


Merciful Protocol

by samzillastomps



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Connor Has Anxiety, Dealing With Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Wilson had enough lines to make it on the Character Tag haha, because what else do I write?, flirting??, hot water drinking, mild PTSD, mutual support and affection, no reliving of trauma, protectiveness and longing abound my friends!, rainy walk in the park, references to past dubcon, some mystery, the pairing I can't get out of my head, these two balance that out with lots of consensual boundaries discussed, this kinda turned out to have a mystery subplot huh, whether or not they are aware of the OTHER flirting is the real question, yeah pretty definite flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-07-29 08:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 75,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16260554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samzillastomps/pseuds/samzillastomps
Summary: 1. to spare, verb(definition)to refrain from killing, harming, or distressing; to leave unpunished; to forgive----Five months after Markus' peaceful protests led to a revolution, many androids are seeking to integrate themselves somehow into the Detroit they once called home. With tensions still glaringly high, one android in particular seeks atonement in the familiar rather than something new for himself. That is, until someone on the cusp of both the familiar and the unknown finds her way into the routine of his everyday life. In helping Chloe find her peace with having become a deviant, can Connor examine his own trauma and desire for forgiveness as well?





	1. Reintroduction

The days were gradually starting to hint at the coming warmth of spring. The smell of rain on the edge of the lingering winter chill no longer held the heavy promise of snow every day.

At least, that was what the radio said, right before Hank changed it from the news over to his favorite music station. Blinking at the late oranges of the sun rising into the sky, Connor did not change it back.

“No need for poetry when all we need’s the weather,” Hank muttered, turning the dial up as the lyrics spoke of Sundays. Connor didn’t point out that most song lyrics smacked of poetry themselves; he was content to relax back in his seat with his hands loosely about the steering wheel.

It was their normal, this morning commute. Ever constant, the routine that Connor found he needed in order to keep himself sane.

In the days following the revolution, and his part in it, Connor had found himself alone. Devoid of Cyberlife’s support, of a place to stay, of even clothes beyond the ones that marked him as an RK800, and not as _himself._

It had been Hank’s idea to have Connor stay with him at first. Intent on not being a burden, Connor had tried to help Hank where he could, and to his credit Hank put up with Connor's health advice with mere grunts of disapproval instead of outright frustrations. Connor had tried to clean a bit here and there, when he had the time. But more often than not, that first month Connor had found himself in front of the television, raptly absorbing the news of the revolution.

Hank began to insist that Connor take him in to the precinct. Perhaps as a ploy to hold himself more accountable for timing, or perhaps in order to get Connor out of the house by force. He’d suggested the carpool arrangement one morning as Connor sat in the corner petting Sumo, his eyes glued to the television as his LED fluctuated between yellow and blue.

“You’d be doing me a favor,” Hank had said gruffly, and Connor had narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “I’d owe you,” Hank had finished lamely, but it did sound genuine.

It had been an unnecessary request, one that Connor had accepted.

Seeing as the negotiations for androids to return to the police force were still underway, and still messy, Connor was not allowed to technically work for the Detroit police department alongside of his old partner. He had been offered a job in administration, one Hank had turned down for him.

Connor had visited privately afterward and accepted. Work was work, after all.

Hank railed about it just about every morning in one way or another, and the first month had been painful. Connor had watched Hank enter the station and felt a strange, out of place sensation within himself. A dissatisfaction. A soft resentment at having been asked to drive his friend to work when he wasn’t allowed to walk in and do the same. The position he had taken required only that he review reports from a computer, and that did not require him physically present at a desk in the precinct.

It felt almost like being used.

After the ache of that first month, Connor found a place of his own. He'd analyzed the current living situation, pairing his particular brand of distress with Hank's, and had deemed it unsuitable for further growth on either of their parts. He found a place nearby shortly after a talk with the lieutenant, one where Hank adamantly and surprisingly tried to convince Connor to stay.

The apartment they found together the following weekend was very small, only a studio apartment a short drive away from where Hank lived. It had helped to be in his own space, even though Connor could see the strained mixture of worry and pride cross over his friend’s features when he accepted the arrangement. In truth, he surmised that Hank had only agreed to him leaving because Connor had found a landlord who was an advocate for androids. The woman seemed kind, intent on providing them spaces just like any other tenant. Hank was still asked to cosign, but not as Connor's owner. Merely as a guardian with financial security. The effect of signing the lease had been scarily liberating. Connor had begun to curate his space, and over time, he had found other things to keep himself occupied besides the work.

He read, for one, and voraciously so. His favorite genre of late was true crime, but he had dabbled in all kinds of novels at the local library. It was an act in self-restraint to actively read a book, rather than download the data alone.

He kept in contact with Markus, for another. Markus was rebuilding Jericho in a new form, just on the outskirts of the city, and continuously organizing events. Whether it was marches for voter registration, meetings for proposals, or rallies for supporters of their cause, Markus seemed to be nowhere and everywhere at once. Connor made sure to be available as the leader and his entourage amassed more publicity and garnered more support, even though he didn’t feel he deserved to be involved. Markus’ unyielding peace made him uncomfortable in a way that was difficult to express. When it came up during their talks, Markus said that Connor’s actions had proven everything he’d needed to know.

Connor himself wasn’t so sure. At best, he had been trying to atone for his lateness. At worst, he had been a trap thwarted only at the very end.

But even though Connor's mind remained awhirl with instability, the commute with Hank was familiar, and it was what made every day bearable. He kept up with the routine even after he moved out.

He would walk the familiar route to Hank’s house every morning, rain or shine, and on the way he would try not to think about his walks in the zen garden. The walk would give him a strange peace some days, an awkward tension others. Hank said that was normal, that quiet would do that to a person.

A person.

The idea of that was what rocked him most days, what he sought to avoid thinking of. Connor focused instead on routines, on what he was good at, on the workload from the police department and the tasks of his hobbies. And twice daily, he could look forward to conversations with the man who’d helped him get to where this contemplation was even possible.

Walk to Hank’s.

Drive Hank to work.

Stop along the way only to grab two drinks from the shop on the corner.

Spend the day researching, reading, or wandering.

Pick Hank up from work.

Do it again the next day.

Eventually life would shift and the balance would change once more, but Connor preferred not to anticipate it just yet. He found that he lacked the proper data to be able to predict such an upset, and trying to do so without it merely frustrated him at the lack of preconstructs he was able to achieve.

“You’re in your head this morning,” Hank said.

“Sorry?” Connor glanced over, only having half-registered his voice.

“Your LED,” Hank motioned to his own temple. “It’s firing up big-time. Got something on your mind?”

Connor parked the car, pulling up perfectly to the curb and straightening his tie before exiting. The shop before him was busier than usual, most likely from the nice weather. It seemed to make people want to be outside more often.

“Nothing in particular.” Connor paused, then turned back to the lieutenant. “Nothing outside of the usual, anyway.”

Hank gave him a tight-lipped smile, the one Connor had come to know as gruff acceptance, and sometimes worry. He knew he had the option of thanking him for his worry, but that never went over well with Hank. Instead, he nodded at the man in the passenger seat and got out of the car.

“I’ll be right back.”

Shutting the car door behind him, Connor made his way past the open patio of the shop and up to the door.

This shop was Hank’s favorite. He told Connor it was because it was close to the precinct, but there were others even closer. This shop was the first to begin employing androids under the new protective system, with paychecks and time off according to the tentative labor laws that the senate was struggling to put into play. Hank seemed to want to silently support the business, especially seeing as vehement anti-android protesters weren’t uncommon every now and again outside the business’ door.

Connor had known the lieutenant long enough to recognize when he wanted to keep silent about his feelings, and so he never brought it up, but he didn’t have to. As the sleek glass door slid noiselessly open for him, he took a deep breath.

There were so many people here, both human and android. Some had their LEDs still in place, as he did, but others had gotten rid of them. There was a new girl behind the counter, one with a spinning blue circlet at her right temple.

For some reason, it made Connor hesitate. He felt his hand slip into his pocket, reaching for a coin, a remnant of a habit. Blinking quickly, he forced himself to relax his hand and step in line.

In and out.

Leave a tip, at Hank’s insistence.

Just the spare change, nothing extravagant.

The days had run together like this long enough that Connor was beginning to find himself comforted rather than afraid. In the familiar, there was a ghost of a memory, a drive he used to define himself by. Knowing what to do, when to do it, and feeling absolved of responsibility was a grace he was no longer afforded.

But there was comfort in the routine.

As he stepped forward in line, prepared to order his regular, something familiar caught his eye. Something new and unscripted and strange, out of place.

In the far corner, sitting nearest to the wall and bundled up almost so tightly that he couldn’t clearly see her face, was Chloe.

Or rather, _a_ Chloe.

There was no telling if it was that _particular_ Chloe.

Instantaneously, Connor ran a quick scan over her features. Her serial number was obscured, her LED not visible with the way her hair fell by her temple, but her facial proportions and the shape of her lashes against her cheek was unmistakable.

Pretty.

Unbidden, an image flashed before his mind’s eye. A lobby, a portrait, Connor crossing his arms so that Hank wouldn’t be able to see how undone he was at the sight of the receptionist. Then, his inability to deny it when his friend asked what he thought of her. The truth, soft, because he hadn't wanted her to hear.

Blinking quickly in order to rid himself of the grainy memory, Connor looked back to the cashier and finished his order. He moved over to the counter to wait for his drink, a mere minute and forty seconds wait time once the customers queued before him were served their orders. He began to assess the rest of the room to avoid looking at that one back corner.

The restaurant was almost at full capacity, twenty bodies inhabiting a space meant for thirty. It must be one of the reasons he was slightly on edge. He’d found that, lately, amidst crowds he had the tendency to become a bit antsy. Hank had told him that was normal, had even read him articles on PTSD. Connor had nodded and thanked him, as if he hadn’t already downloaded those very same articles himself.

Sometimes it just felt better hearing it from Hank.

Among the twenty people in the shop, seven were androids, and three of those androids were working behind the counter. They wore no bright armbands, no triangles on their lapels, and half of them had no LEDs to speak of.

Connor’s fingers found his coin in his pocket, and this time he made no attempt to stop his fidgeting. He wondered if his own LED was showing signs of processing, of anxiety. Hank had said it was, back in the car. Did the awareness of anxiety heighten it? Rather than focusing on that useless channel of worry, Connor recalibrated himself.

The quarter coin was small, requiring all of his focus in order to pass from knuckle to knuckle, hand to hand. Motor skills, cognitive function, it began to seep back into place as he adjusted himself. He had just flicked the coin from one hand to the other when he felt something soft at his elbow.

Fingers.

Not gripping, not tapping, but something in between.

Small.

Accompanied by a breathy, shaky sigh.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” a woman said softly.

He caught the coin between two fingers and, in one slick motion, pocketed it before turning to see who had addressed him.

Looking up at him with wide eyes, her lower lip touching the edge of a thick scarf pulled high about her neck, was the Chloe.

Connor did not startle, but it was unexpected. He opened his mouth to say something, but she beat him to it.

“Connor?”

It felt nice to hear his name in her voice. Normally nobody addressed him by name, not since he'd stopped working physically at the precinct. Hank did, but that was different.

He glanced cursorily over her, fully prepared for a hello and perhaps some small talk about what would bring her back to the city from the lakeside villa she inhabited with Elijah. He expected about a minute, maybe a minute and a half, of pleasantries before they ran out of things to say to one another and parted ways on hopefully amicable terms. He began to run through possible introduction phrases, or ways to greet her, trying to anticipate what she might best respond to.

What Connor didn’t expect, however, were tears.

Connor noted in rapid succession the details in her countenance beyond that first impression.

Her scarf pulled up and looped heavily about her neck made her look small, giving off an air of childlike distress.

Red rimmed eyes, as if these tears were not the first she’d shed today.

LED missing. Not just hidden.

So she removed it?

A deviant, then?

Body almost entirely covered, in too many layers than today’s weather would warrant.

Glancing down for a split second, he saw she wore boots too big for her feet, tied with the laces about her ankles to make sure they stayed on.

She was running from something. Or in a bad spot.

Or both.

“Do you remember me?” she whispered, her lips parted as if she had more to say.

“I-”

“Order for Connor to go,” the barista called out, setting his two drinks on the countertop before walking away.

“Oh.” Chloe seemed to come back to herself at that, her face falling, so easy to read and so open that it was almost painful to see. “Oh, I didn’t… didn’t realize you were on your way out. I’m so sorry. You must be busy, what am I…”

Slowly, so as not to stress her further, Connor nodded.

“I remember you. You’re Chloe, right?”

Her eyes came back to his, blue and fearful. At her name, she seemed to soften.

“Yes. I…” she paused, snapping her jaw shut, but then blurted out, “We met at Elijah’s.”

"We did," he confirmed. "I wish it had been under different circumstances."

Connor took both of the drinks in his hands, noting as he did so that her hand remained on his shirtsleeve. At the mention of Elijah her brows had quirked downward, as if she was blinking away a memory.

So she was _that_ Chloe.

Connor took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, adopting what he hoped was a reassuring tone.

“Is everything alright? You look a bit shaken.”

“Oh.” Chloe blinked up at him, then offered him a dazzling, if not weak, little smile. “I suppose I am. A little shaken, I mean.” She immediately glanced up to him, her eyes eager and her brow set. “But also I’m fine, really.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed. “Can I get you anything?”

“Yes. I mean, no, thank you, I just,” she shook her head, her lips moving over the syllables she wanted to say before she said them. Her eyes fled his once, twice, and yet the third time they stayed firm on his. “I wanted to see if it was really you. I didn’t expect to ever see you again. Not after…”

She shook her head, but the stoic way she looked at him conveyed what she couldn’t say aloud. The fear written there, the regret, was something he’d recognized in himself and denied in himself, even after Elijah had first called him a deviant.

She didn’t expect to see Connor after he chose not to shoot her. After he left, agitated and unsure of himself. That’s what she was trying to say.

“Well,” Connor said, even as he mentally carded through possible responses to best assuage her. “I didn’t really get the impression that Elijah had invited me back at my earliest convenience.”

She gave a scoff of a laugh, and her eyes fled to the ceiling. He could see them welling with more tears, but she was careful not to blink. She kept them at bay, her eyes searching above them for something invisible until she could calm herself.

Ever patient, Connor said nothing. He moved them slowly out of the way of the counter as the next drinks and their respective owners were called out, and Chloe let him lead her.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated quietly, finally coming back to herself. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“It can be a lot to take in,” Connor replied.

“What can?”

“Remembering.”

She nodded, and he watched as she dipped her chin into her scarf. It hid half of her visage from him, making it difficult to analyze her expression. Her gaze traveled downward, down over the lapel of his simple grey coat, further down to the two drinks in his hands.

“I’m keeping you,” she said again, and he could yet detect uncertainty behind that note of false joviality. “You shouldn’t let me do that.”

“I’ve nowhere to be.”

A lie. A small one, but a lie nonetheless. They slipped out sometimes, now that he had broken free of the protocol that only allowed him to lie in order to further an investigation. Connor grimaced and rephrased.

“Nowhere to be for the next few minutes, at least,” he said, leaning forward as if it was a little joke. Before she could give another huff of a laugh at his attempt to be polite, he asked, “Can I buy you something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” she refused, eyeing him strangely. She paused, then stammered, “Are you…?”

Chloe glanced pointedly at the two drinks in his hands.

“Oh, no. I’ve no need for caffeine,” Connor smirked at her and lifted both drinks to turn the labels towards her.

One read ‘black coffee’, the other nothing.

“Coffee for my friend, hot water for me,” he explained, letting his arms relax back down once more. “To start the day off right.”

“You…” Chloe smiled genuinely for the first time, and Connor felt himself mimicking her facial expression. “You drink plain water?”

“Yes. It’s harmless against my biocomponents when heated to optimal temperature for human consumption, and it gives me something to do with my hands.”

Other than fidgeting, as Hank liked to say.

“It is especially useful when interacting with a human companion, I’ve found,” he continued, a bit wryly.

“How so?”

Chloe tilted her head, her lips visible once more from above the knit of her scarf. Connor glanced at them, only to dissect more about her mood. He met her gaze once more, adopting a casual expression.

“When conversation lulls, all one has to do is take a sip, wait for the other person to collect their thoughts, and then subtly introduce a new topic.”

Connor lifted the hand with the hot water cup in it and gave Chloe what he hoped was a reassuring wink over the brim of the cup as he demonstrated, taking a tiny mouthful of the near-scalding liquid.

“Lovely weather,” he said once he’d swallowed. “Wouldn’t you say?”

She smiled wider, and one hand came up to cover the edge of her scarf and the curve of her lips.

Pretty.

Connor felt himself swallow once more, a strange response to her proximity manifesting with an increase in his core temperature. Or perhaps that was merely from the hot water. He couldn’t be sure.

“I’ll have to remember that next time I come back here.” She gestured to the cup with one hand. “The drink thing, not necessarily the small talk. That part comes as standard protocol to all android models meant for personal assistance, I’m afraid.”

“Ah.” Connor glanced down at the cups in his hands, then back to her. “I was wondering about that, actually.”

“About what?” Chloe said with what sounded like a nervous giggle. “About the ST200 models?”

“No. I was wondering, what are you doing in a coffeeshop if not to drink something warm?” Connor asked, hoping that the mild teasing wouldn’t make her withdraw once more.

He only had a minute, maybe two, before he had to leave. Hank would be getting antsy in the car, and after five minutes the coffee would begin to cool. But for some reason, Connor didn’t want to have to go on a sour note, not when Chloe looked as if something was already weighing so heavily on her.

“Oh,” she exhaled, and her smile dampened almost imperceptibly. “I needed somewhere to sit for a while. This shop looked so comfortable and quaint, I couldn’t resist.”

Connor felt the telltale twitch beneath his eyes, the sign he wanted to delve further, the feeling of logging away details for later analysis.

Comfortable and quaint. Another way of saying it was safe?

Other people around, crowds, easier to blend in.

Layers of clothing, even in a shop with elevated warmth, sitting close to where the steam from the machines would hit her.

Was she malfunctioning? Should she run a diagnostic?

Should he?

Chloe seemed not to notice his immediate analysis, because she straightened her shoulders and made to say something further.

She didn’t get the chance. Her words died on her lips as she looked beyond Connor’s face. Glancing over his shoulder, her pupils dilated just barely as she focused on someone behind him, and Connor felt himself tense.

She seemed to recognize whoever it was, but that didn’t necessarily mean a lack of confrontation. Readying himself to analyze the situation and possibly plan for countermeasures, Connor put on a neutral expression and turned to face the person stepping up hastily behind him.

“There you are,” Hank said, taking what he thought was his coffee from Connor’s hands before Connor had a chance to tell him which was which. “I knew it was busy in here, but you sure took your time this morning. I get testy without my coffee, man.”

He raised the cup to his lips, but before he could drink it, Connor reached out and stopped him.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor said, stepping a bit to the side to allow a straight line of sight to Chloe. “You remember Chloe, don’t you?”

Hank’s eyes narrowed, but he did not raise the cup further.

“Huh?”

Connor switched out both drinks, careful not to spill them as he transferred his hot water away from Hank’s hand and replaced it with the coffee.

“Chloe. She saw to us at Elijah Kamski’s residence.” Connor gave him a pointed look. “You remember her.”

Hank got a good look at her, Connor could tell by the way he didn’t raise his coffee cup to his lips. Recognition bloomed visibly across his features, followed darkly by the memory of what happened after the pivotal choice. And then, a warmth Connor hadn’t anticipated, something strange that he couldn’t put his finger on.

“I do. Good to see you again, Chloe.” Hank transferred his cup to the other hand and reached to shake hers. She took it, nodding at him. “How’ve you been?”

“Doing quite well, thank you,” she answered, and Connor could tell it was a comfort to her, too, being able to say a script she knew. She turned to Connor once more, and her eyes no longer held the tears they had before. “I was a bit shocked to find Connor here, so I felt I had to approach him. I didn't know he was in a hurry.”

“Lieutenant-”

“Is that right?” Hank glanced between the two of them, and then made an expression as if he were feigning surprise. Connor narrowed his eyes at him, but Hank merely grinned and said nothing.

“Yes. He insisted on making sure I was alright,” Chloe continued. Maybe she confused Connor’s silence for annoyance, because she put a hand back on his sleeve. “I’m very grateful.”

“We were just taking a moment to catch up,” Connor said, ignoring the way his body reacted to the simple touch. It was as if everything was warmer, or sped up, and he was hyper-aware of the slightest increase in pressure Chloe's hands had on his arm.

Nervous. He was feeling nervous.

"I'll leave you two to it, then. See you around, Chloe."

“I’ll follow you out,” Connor tried to say as Hank made to leave, but his friend interrupted him.

“No, please,” Hank held up both hands as he sauntered out, finally lifting his cup to his lips as he turned. “By all means,” he finished. “Take your time.”

Connor wasn’t sure why the comment sounded underhanded.

"I'm glad you're still working with him," Chloe said softly. "I thought he was a nice man, from what little I saw of him."

Connor said nothing, not until he saw his friend disappear out the sliding doors. Once Hank left the shop, Connor turned back to Chloe and slipped a hand into his coat pocket. When he pulled it out again, he was holding onto a small business card, which he extended to Chloe.

“If you ever want to talk, or if you need to get someplace safe,” he said, these lines a script of his own, “I can help you. Please don’t hesitate to call me.”

He had taken this upon himself as well. An informal aid to those who had the means to get out of the city, one of so many nowadays, he couldn’t do much but he did what he could. It was another way he occupied his time, another way he coped with the trauma of it all.

Another way he tried to atone.

Chloe took the card in both of her hands, nodding to herself. Before she could raise her blue eyes back to his, Connor felt it was imperative he leave.

“I have to go,” he said quickly. He reached for her hands with his only free one, giving them a firm squeeze even though he was careful not to crush the card. “Have a nice day, Chloe.”

She caught his gaze just as he was about to turn, and gave him one last smile.

“Thank you, Connor.”

He decided it wasn’t fleeing if one was late to be somewhere. He wasn’t running, he was just hurrying. In an instant, he was back by the car, opening the door and getting in as Hank sipped his coffee in the passenger seat.

"Told you, you could take your time," Hank said.

"I did," Connor said blithely.

As he drove to the precinct, deliberately avoiding Hank’s strangely kind expression, Connor took it upon himself to turn the music up this time. Loud enough that, for a moment, the energy of it drowned out the unevenness of his thoughts and any further questions from his former partner.


	2. Palliation

The nightly routine Connor held in his own space was minimalistic but thorough. He would run through a comprehensive diagnostics of himself, assessing any physical components that didn’t align just right, and would make note of them.

So far he had only had to catalogue mental instabilities, nothing physical. Not being an active member of the police force meant less injuries to contend with. That seemed to be one of the only plus sides to being prevented from doing the job he was made for.

After diagnostics, he would care for the houseplants Hank had hung about his space. The lieutenant had insisted that caring for something, even something as simple as a plant, was a good habit to get into. He’d chosen “the easy ones”, according to him, which made Connor amused to think on even now. It was as if Hank willfully ignored the fact that Connor could research and download methodology for just about any life skill, at the drop of a hat, and had insisted on getting him an introductory plant to ease him into hands-on learning how to care for it.

It was an endearing thought, anyway.

There were two large bamboo palms in the corner by the back wall, away from direct sunlight. They seemed to be thriving, and they offered a lushness to his sparse decor that Connor appreciated. Hanging by the balcony door were philodendrons, their vines looping downward from the trendy geometric pots they rested in. His apartment window faced south, and therefore the small balcony got a decent amount of sun, so they were doing alright too. Finally, by his desk was a bonsai tree, not unlike the one on Hank’s at the precinct. It was Connor's favorite. It reminded him of the zen garden, in a way that he could control.

Before he would relax for the night, Connor would take his time and attend to each one of the houseplants. If the leaves needed pruning, or the soil needed moistening, he would do so. He'd even go so far as to sample the soil for pH levels, always happy Hank wasn't around to make a noise of disgust as he touched the dirt to the tip of his tongue. Most nights that was it. They required surprisingly little attention.

But sometimes, when he was feeling particularly anxious for no discernible reason, Connor would run his thumbs down the gloss of the leaves, or memorize the shape of the hanging vines for a moment, with the way the city lights behind it cast it in silhouette. It was another thing to keep his hand busy and his mind clear, a meditative act that didn't require a coin.

Afterwards, when all was right with his flora, Connor would allow himself to absorb the news. Hank had warned him against compulsive watching, so Connor normally set a time limit for himself. He would sit before the television and stretch out while on his tablet, listening to both at once. At times, when he wanted to be challenged, he would flick through several countries’ accounts of what was transpiring in America, flexing his linguistics processor as he looked for some outside perspective that matched what he was experiencing.

He never found it.

The accounts were versions of the same three things, for the most part. A neutrality he deemed as insufferable, a vitriol that seemed inciteful, or a yearning for things to merely get quiet again so that everyone could bow their heads and move on. Nothing seemed to incorporate the confusion he felt at suddenly...  _feeling_. Nothing captured the way he was now expected to return to his everyday life as himself, but without the conscience that had been guiding him for so long to deem what was necessary and what was excessive, what was good and what was unacceptable. Connor looked through the reports, but saw himself in none of them. Even the ones where Markus spoke, it was diluted. He found himself detached more often that not, and often wondered why he bothered watching anyway.

Usually after a few hours of this, he would turn everything off and begin to reflect in a trance about other things. He supposed it was close to sleeping, as close as his prototype could emulate it. He could run indefinitely for several weeks at a time, but this kept his cognitive processing clean and smooth. With the upheaval he’d experienced in the last couple of months, that was necessary maintenance.

Sometimes Connor would meditate on the paperwork he’d had to do that day, running through details of a case or doing simple computations ad infinitum. Other times he experienced the strange joy of useless daydreaming, a phrase he’d never really known the meaning of before becoming deviant. His programming had prevented the desire for anything deemed useless, but there was a weird comfort in being able to indulge in it.

His favorite useless daydream was about the rescue shelter.

One weekend, Hank had taken him to the shelter nearby. It had been a surprise, one that had come during a particularly dark week during the first month of acclimation. During that week, Connor had cried for the first time. Two days later, Hank took them both to see the foster puppies.

It had been a very obvious ploy to reset his turbulent emotions, but Connor hadn’t cared. He’d never been around so many dogs at one time before. That trip had provided Connor with several hours’ worth of relaxation, and Hank had been surprisingly patient when Connor asked him if they could take each of the puppies on a walk around the rescue grounds, one at a time.

Upon returning home that night, Connor had preconstructed a name, living area, and training regimen for each one of the foster pups in accordance with their breed and personality. It was his preferred method of relaxation, visiting the imagined animals in his mind palace, avoiding the worry of whether or not he would be yanked forcibly back into the zen garden at a moment’s notice. It was how he settled into a quiet respite, how he found his peace lately.

Tonight, however, he was interrupted.

As Connor turned the television off and set his tablet down onto the coffee table, he received an incoming call. It wasn’t a direct transmission, the way that Markus called him. This call was on the small, sleek phone by the table, the one whose number was printed on a dozen little business cards. It gave off a melodic little chime and a glow that gradually increased and decreased with the noise.

He got to it on the third ring, and for a moment he heard nothing on the other line.

That was normal. Most people who called him were worried, frightened, or looking for illegal means to get themselves away from Detroit. Some people called him to try to get to Markus. Nobody called him on this line just to chat.

“How can I help you?” Connor asked carefully, pitching his tone into a deliberate respectful, quiet timbre.

Nothing. But he could hear a hitched breath.

Quickly, he mentally sifted through possible responses. The ones that worked were usually the ones that comforted, that made the other person feel like they were being listened to.

“It’s alright. It's going to be okay."

The breath hitched again, like someone was crying.

"I'm here," Connor said softly, “but I can't help you if you don’t talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” a man said on the other line. “I’m sorry, I… I can’t do this.”

The line went dead, and Connor held it for a moment as he processed this.

It wasn’t a voice he necessarily recognized, but that didn’t mean anything. He gave the card to people because that way they could pass it discretely on. Sometimes he wouldn’t know who was calling by the sound of their voice or even their identification number, if they chose to give it. If the person on the other line decided they needed to talk to someone, or that they needed help finding a place to stay, Connor would answer again.

Until that happened, however, he could do no more than try to relax. Asking for help had to come in its own time, he of all people realized that.

Sitting back down at the couch, Connor closed his eyes and let go of a tension in his shoulders he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Instead of visiting the shelter in his mind palace, he began to trace through algorithms until he fell into a dreamy, cool state of quiet.

 

* * *

 

The next day, the coffee shop was even busier. Hank insisted on walking in with him, for some reason, which disrupted Connor’s already precarious sense of calm.

He hadn’t gotten to rest for more than a few hours the previous night. Someone had called and hung up several times, which was not unheard of, and then he spoke once with a young girl who was looking for her “aunt”. Connor had assumed it was code for a caretaker model, and he’d made mental notes to ask around at the local shelters, and with his landlord, to see if he couldn’t locate her and bring her back to the family that was seeking her out.

He’d run through his database of informants on the walk to Hank’s, his hands in his pockets and his grey trench layered over his favorite pressed charcoal suit. He’d had to turn off his temperature sensitivity this morning; the cold had come back full force, a snowstorm on the horizon and the sky a dreary slab of granite. So far none of his scans had yielded any results on the "aunt", and he was frustratedly at a dead end for now.

Hank, however, seemed to be in decent spirits. As they ordered their usual, he was talking about a homicide investigation he was working on, and asking Connor to look over the files.

“You know I’m not allowed to influence an investigation I’m not a part of, lieutenant,” Connor said, nodding his thanks at the cashier.

A human today. The android from yesterday was now working on pouring lattes under the guidance of a third barista.

“You aren’t influencing,” Hank said with a groan. “You’re… chatting. Just a friendly chat.”

Connor cast a sideways glance at his former partner, and Hank twisted his lips into a frown.

“Can’t tell me you aren’t eager to get back to it,” he said, and Connor glossed over his expression into friendly neutrality.

“You’re right,” he answered, sincerity inescapable when it came to matters like this. “I miss doing the work I was programmed for.”

Connor mirrored the way Hank was waiting, one arm on the counter where they would serve the drinks, the other on his hip.

“But I still retain a sense of integrity in regards to how I go about returning to it,” Connor said firmly.

Hank scoffed.

“Says the man who broke into the archives when we were taken off the deviant case."

"That-"

"The man who convinced me to punch a fed for a distraction!”

“I never asked you to punch him,” Connor said. He felt a twitch, as if he were about to smile, but he wiped away all traces of it. “You did that of your own volition.”

“Free will’s a bitch sometimes, ain’t it?” Hank said with a chuckle.

Connor blinked, processing this, and then nodded sagely.

“Sometimes.”

The two fell quiet, and Connor was silently grateful for Hank’s presence in the midst of the crowd. There was an unspoken reassurance there, someone who understood that if he was overwhelmed he could escape. Someone who had seen worse with him, who recognized that his paranoia wasn't randomly generated from nothing.

“I see a table about to open up,” Hank said, interrupting the static din of the shop. “I say we take the morning, bat around some decidedly not case-related investigation points-” Connor narrowed his eyes at his friend, but could not keep from smirking, “-and have our drinks here for once. What do you say?”

“Well.” Connor glanced around, and then sighed lightly. “It would be nice to sit for just a moment. Don't you have a briefing to get to this morning, though?”

“I mean yeah, but," he blew a raspberry. "Not like they’ll miss me anyway,” Hank chuckled. “They’re getting too comfortable with the idea of me coming in before noon. Need to remind them who they’re dealing with. I’m my own man, after all.”

Before Connor could reply, their drinks were set on the counter, and Hank grabbed them in both hands.

“C’mon Connor, over here.”

Hank made his way to the corner by the shop window, where the glass met the high-backed cushions that lined the entire back wall. The tables set up there required chairs only on one side, seeing as the cushioned wall created a kind of booth that spanned the entire back length of the shop. Connor glanced over the space, the napkins left on the table, and deemed it abandoned by previous customers. He moved to join his former partner, and as he slipped through the crowd of people, he realized belatedly why Hank had chosen the table he did.

Sitting at the table just next to the one Hank was sitting at, a sketchbook open before her, was Chloe.

She was smiling at the lieutenant, who was very overtly telling her hello even as he struggled not to look uncomfortable. Or perhaps he was trying not to look smug. Those two emotions were always difficult to discern on Hank Anderson.

Connor swallowed hard, and took note that Chloe had only just noticed him as well. As soon as their eyes connected, Chloe smiled over her scarf and lifted one hand in a semblance of a wave. She didn’t move her fingers back and forth, merely held her hand up.

A bit surprised that she would frequent the shop a second day in a row, Connor held up his own hand as well.

“Don’t be awkward, Connor, sit down,” Hank grumbled. He kicked out the chair opposite the cushioned booth he and Chloe were sitting on, albeit far enough apart that Chloe could still politely refuse to join in their conversation if she so chose.

Pulling the chair out the rest of the way, Connor sat down opposite his friend and straightened his tie. Before he said anything, he scanned the table to his left quickly and subtly.

A sketchbook and pen, a very loose and neat script looping over the page.

A semblance of a diary, then?

There was a bag beside her, large and fabric, its size decent enough for a day’s travel.

Was she ready to run, even now?

Her coat and scarf were the same as yesterday, but her skirt was different. Instead of a navy, today it was a deep burgundy wine color. The cold snap allowed her to blend in more effectively with her layers, seeing as other patrons were dressed in just as many layers as she was today.

She looked comfortable.

On the table was an opaque cup full of steaming liquid, with nothing written on the side and a mark of pink lip gloss at the rim.

Connor blinked, thrown from his scan by the detail.

“I hope you’re doing well today,” he said politely to her.

“Quite well,” she answered.

For a beat, they said nothing, and Hank made a show of taking off his coat and laying it next to him on the booth as if he intended to stay awhile. Chloe smiled more broadly and glanced between himself and the lieutenant.

“Do you two come here often?” she asked, picking up the cup and bringing it to her lips.

Strange. His response was immediate and very strange.

Connor instantly analyzed his cognitive functions, marveling at the burst of static that seemed to fill his chest cavity at the sight of Chloe mimicking what he’d shown her yesterday. This response, this elevated level that felt much like stress, it was oddly pleasant. It was reminiscent of pride, but also satisfaction, like when a puzzle piece fell into place and the picture became clearer. Yet, less definable than that.

Perhaps a sense of appreciation? That she was taking his advice?

“Every morning,” Hank answered, when it became apparent that Connor was seemingly alright with staring blankly at the girl before him. He nudged Connor's boot with his foot.

“Y-yes,” Connor added, sensing his partner was looking at him pointedly. He ignored Hank and gave Chloe what he hoped was a knowing smile. He wanted her to interpret it as pride at her execution, and she seemed to take in his expression with a kind of pleasure. “Every morning, before Lieutenant Anderson goes into the precinct, we stop here first.”

“Oh? Only the lieutenant goes to work, then?” Chloe asked, setting her drink down past the sketchbook once more. “Not you, as well?”

“No, not since the protests,” Connor said, and he could feel his face fall. Chloe’s did as well, her lips relaxing into a pout. He looked away, choosing instead to glance at Hank. “Android reintegration has been a slow process. Add to that the disciplinary action that was taken upon me for assaulting a detective-”

“Who they deemed got what was coming to him,” Hank interrupted, his face aglower with memories.

"You assaulted a detective?"

"It was self-defense," Connor backtracked. "But yes. Undeniably, my fending him off resulted in his broken nose."

Chloe stayed quiet, as if she wasn't quite sure what to do with this information, and Hank looked as if he sorely wanted to roll his eyes.

“It’s just going to take some time for people to feel comfortable allowing me back on homicide,” Connor said, glancing back to Chloe with what he hoped was an expression of neutral acceptance.

“Oh. I’m…” she shook her head, then reached out across the gap between tables.

It was an automatic response. Connor had yet to figure out why it was so innate, but when another android reached for him, or when he reached for them, the connection was not to be ignored. He met Chloe’s hand halfway, allowing her to place her fingers on the forearm of his coat as his rested near her elbow.

“I’m sorry,” she finished, looking a bit distraught. "It sounds like you've been through a lot recently."

“It's quite alright,” Connor said. “Captain Fowler worked with the police department to find a place for me in administration. Should the door ever open again for me to return as Lieutenant Anderson’s partner, I’ll be ready and already within the database. It would be a seamless reintroduction.”

He watched as she glanced to the lieutenant for confirmation, and Hank nodded with a grim, tight-lipped expression. Chloe sighed.

“I see.”

As she pulled away, as Connor followed suit, their fingertips brushed across the others’ palm. It was only for a moment, but the sensation of static along his wrist caught Connor off-guard. He didn’t outwardly flinch, but he struggled to process it. Her fingers curled backwards as if she’d felt the same pulse, and he noted that she avoided his gaze.

It took her only a millisecond to recover. Chloe adopted a more pleasant, convivial expression when looking towards Hank, and she folded her hands in her lap as she gave a little contemplative hum.

“I’m sure you miss having him as your partner.”

“Well,” Hank turned to him as he leaned back in the booth with his coffee in one hand. “There are days when I miss the dogged persistence of his crime scene investigation, yeah.”

Connor smiled weakly, understanding that it was a compliment even as he struggled to register happiness at the words. It resonated dully within him, the fact that the lieutenant was no more satisfied with the way things were than he was. But then Hank took a swig of his coffee and sighed raggedly.

“I won’t miss that disgusting thing you do with your mouth, though.”

Immediately, Connor’s eyes shot up to Hank’s, and then to Chloe’s. Her expression was one of wide-eyed politeness, but he could see even without an LED to clue him into her processing that she was struggling to look past the accidental innuendo.

“He means analysis,” Connor said hastily.

"Analysis?" Chloe repeated, tilting her head a bit to the side.

“Yes. I have the ability to analyze samples immediately in real time, merely by…” he made sure his expression was blank. “By tasting them.”

“Really?” Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“It’s true, unfortunately,” Hank grumbled.

“I want to see,” Chloe said, and she bounced a bit in her seat.

Rather bubbly programming. Supposedly this was what helped her pass the Turing Test all those years ago, her ability to seem eager and intrigued and truly invested.

“You really don’t,” Hank shot back, chuckling darkly to himself.

“But I do. I’ve heard of androids who are capable of emulating different vocal patterns, of those who are fluent in hundreds of languages, and I myself am capable of incredible mental calculation. But that... I've never heard of that.”

“I’m a prototype, created expressly for assisting the police department in their investigations,” Connor said, and he glanced down at his cup of hot water to twirl it absently on the tabletop. “Cyberlife felt it was necessary to create someone like me, in order to better assist in the hunting of deviants.”

The crowds behind them in the shop were luckily covering their conversation, but it still made him feel uncomfortable to reference Cyberlife and deviants aloud. As if it would somehow give Amanda the ability to pull him back to the zen garden against his will, or cause the deviants around him to glare angrily at him once they found him out for what he used to be.

Hank called that superstition, but Connor recognized it as precaution.

“I think that’s fascinating,” Chloe said, and the perk in her voice was what made Connor look up. She was smiling kindly, her shoulders straight and her hands relaxed in her lap. She turned to Hank. “What can we have him sample, Lieutenant?”

“We?” Hank chuckled. “I’ve seen him do it enough to last me a lifetime. It’s up to you, miss.”

As if to illustrate how uninterested he was, Hank pulled a tablet from his briefcase and began to dig through for the cord that would connect it to his phone.

Chloe, unperturbed, glanced around.

“Nothing will hurt you, right? If you ingest something inedible?”

Connor shook his head, vaguely registering amusement at her sudden interest.

“I can’t be poisoned, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said with a nervous little laugh.

Out of his peripheral, he could tell the lieutenant was watching him, and that he was grinning as well.

“Okay. Then… let’s do an experiment. If you have the time, I mean,” Chloe glanced at Hank as he began to transfer audio files from his tablet to his phone. “Do you two have work to do?”

“Oh, no,” Hank shook his head. “I’m making a playlist for the meeting today. Tired of the same old sh- junk I’ve been listening to for the past few days." He cast her a glance and nodded. "You two carry on the experiment, don’t mind me.”

Connor narrowed his eyes, feeling that same trace of underhandedness as he had the previous day, but Chloe seemed oblivious.

Perhaps she wasn’t as attuned to the psychology of tone.

Maybe she noticed but didn’t care.

“Alright, Connor,” Chloe said, and his attention snapped back to her.

Her smile was light and airy. No wonder she had passed for human, because she seemed to be showing true delight in this, her smile the absolute pinnacle of tension easing expressiveness. Her lips looked very soft with that layer of gloss on them. He wondered absently why she did that, why she wore it. Human women did it for cosmetic reasons, to protect the sensitive skin, but androids weren’t sensitive to the elements.

Unless Chloe, like himself, was specialized in some way.

He realized he was staring dazedly at her mouth and forced himself to glance away as she rummaged through her bag.

After but a second, she produced a pen case. Unzipping it, she took out a simple red fountain pen. In one fluid motion, Chloe picked up the pen she had laid across her sketchbook, then held both out to him.

“It really won’t hurt you to lick something inedible?”

“No,” Connor reassured her. “I’m perfectly able to analyze whatever it is you have for me.”

“Okay,” Chloe smiled, a laugh on the edge of her voice. “This sounds so silly. But…”

She uncapped the two pens, and reached her hand out for Connor’s. Automatically, he laid his hand palm up in hers.

“Close your eyes,” she said, her voice playful.

Connor made the mistake of glancing over at Hank, who suddenly cleared his throat and pretended to be very absorbed in the music he was picking out on his phone. He brought his coffee up to his mouth, and refused to return Connor’s gaze, but Connor could still discern mirth from behind the facial hair and obstructions.

“Please?” Chloe insisted. “I won’t do anything horrible, I promise.”

Connor felt strangely light inside, as if the Thirium within himself had traces of some catalyst that caused sparks to tingle and make air pockets all through his chest cavity. He found that he wanted nothing more than to do as she asked. Her smile today was a far cry from the tears of yesterday, and he mentally noted that his previous level of anxiety had quieted upon sitting across from her. He wondered if she was comforted in a similar way, if just by being near familiar faces she found the wherewithal to cheer herself more easily.

He wanted her to stay like this. To stay cheerful.

So Connor did as she asked, and he closed his eyes.

He heard a plastic pop, then felt a small, wet scratching at his index finger, the pressure of it gentle. He had the strange, clenching sensation of nervousness, even though he trusted implicitly that she would not go back on her word and 'do something horrible'. No, this nervousness was pleasant, not at all the way crowds made him feel. This was closer to excitement.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly, but did not pull his hand away.

He heard the uncapping or recapping of a pen, and then another wet scritch over the tip of his middle finger.

“There. Now, keep your eyes closed,” Chloe set something on the table, but she still had his hand in hers. “I’ve drawn in ink on two of your fingers. One is red, one is black. Can you tell merely by analyzing which is which?”

Connor wanted to grin. Of course he could. That was not difficult, by any stretch of the imagination, but he got the sense that Chloe was somehow proud of her challenge. It was in the way her voice lilted, the tone she used, and Connor would not erase that from her voice if he could help it. In an effort to perform the task for her as she wanted it done, he inclined his head politely.

“Can’t believe you asked to see this,” Hank grumbled. “His tongue’s going to be stained the rest of the day.”

Rather than replying, Connor brought his index finger to his lips and stuck out his tongue, licking the tip.

The stabilizers standard in most pen inks were what he noted first. Polyvinyl acetate. Next, the petrochemical solvents. A slew of other additives, glycerides and triethanolamine, and finally the pigment beneath it all.

Eosin dye. Bromine.

“This is the red ink.”

Chloe made a noise, one he took for pleasure, and Connor licked at his middle finger to make doubly sure.

The same sort of analytics popped up in his mind’s eye, save for a few key differences. A different stabilizer, for one, and an alcoholic solvent for another. Commonly used in felt-tip pens. The dye itself was not coal, as he had anticipated for black ink, but instead was a copper-zinc alloy.

“This… is gold ink,” he said hesitantly, “not black.”

Hank grunted, and Connor felt Chloe’s fingertips at his wrist. Opening his eyes, he was unsurprised to see his analysis had been corrected. His index held a blot of drying red ink, and his middle a spot of gold.

He looked up at Chloe for an explanation, but instead she laughed and held his hand up to look at for herself as well.

Taken aback, Connor felt his lips part not of his own volition.

Chloe had an expression he hadn’t seen her wear before now written plainly across her features. When he scanned briefly over her face, he found the emotion hard to interpret. She was smiling, close to smirking, her eyes glinting with awareness and a narrowness that usually came with the act of perceiving or listening intently. Her brow was relaxed, as if she could not be more calm. The closest feeling he could approximate her look to was _mischief._

“I’m sorry about tricking you,” she said past her catlike smile. "I wanted to know if you would just assume the other was black ink, without testing it first.”

Connor glanced down at his fingertips again, and then back to Chloe, still at a loss for words.

“Here,” Hank tossed the paper napkin he was using to hold his hot coffee cup with over onto Connor’s lap. “Close your mouth, son, you’ll catch flies that way.”

Connor snapped his jaw shut, adopting what he hoped was an expression of neutrality. He could tell it wasnt, just by the way Hank was chuckling across the table.

“Was that okay to do?” Chloe asked, her fingertips still on his wrist.

Warm. She was radiating warmth.

“Perfectly fine,” Connor said, wiping his fingers off with the napkin. She took it from his hands, insisting on being the one to do it without a word, and he let her. “I'm just surprised, is all,” he finished rather lamely.

“Surprised that you got it right?”

“No,” he gave her a wry look of appreciation. “Surprised that you tried to trick me. That was clever of you.”

"Was it now?"

"I think so." Connor lowered his voice and leaned forward. "But the first trick to investigating something, no matter what it is, is to never assume you know what's going on. Not until you have all of the evidence, anyway."

Chloe seemed as if she didn’t know what to say to that. She slid her fingertips from his skin, her lack of touch affording him a slight shiver. Her lips opened in a small _o_ , but no sound emerged, and for lack of anything better to say she reached for her hot water cup right as Connor did for his. Their eyes met over the rims, and Connor couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculousness of the interaction.

At the ridiculousness he himself was embodying.

“So Chloe,” Hank said, flipping through his music library as he spoke. “Second day in a row we run into you. Are you on vacation nearby or something?”

“Mmm,” she set her water down, swallowed, and nodded. “In a way, yes.”

Connor scanned her features. She wasn’t lying outright, but she was not being truthful. He knew he could press her if he wished, could phrase questions in a way she wouldn’t be able to so subtly avoid answering. But he didn’t have the heart to. The way Hank was asking her questions already smacked of an interrogation in a way, perhaps because he was so in the habit of asking questions within that setting.

“Staying with friends?” he asked vaguely.

She nodded again.

“Friends of Elijah’s, yes,” she clarified. “A woman named Salma and her husband, Everett.”

“How long are you in town for, then?” Hank asked.

“Why?” Chloe gave him a dazzling little smile. “Are you trying to plan a dinner party, Lieutenant? Am I invited?”

Charming. Was that programmed into her, or did she learn it? Connor felt pulled to ask, felt this strange yearning to know what made her so very  _her_.

He kept his mouth shut, however, instead opting for another swallow of water. It cleared the rest of the ink pigment from his sensors, at least.

“Actually, there might be something happening in the next couple of weeks. Little friendly get together among colleagues, if you were wanting to pop by.”

Connor glanced over at the lieutenant, mistrust plainly written on his features. He hadn’t heard of any potential 'get-togethers', anyway. If Hank was lying to try to get Chloe to be around more often, it wasn’t subtle enough. It was blatant and could be perceived as rude and meddlesome, and-

Hank shrugged at him, shooting him a look of _the hell do you want from me_ before returning to his tablet.

“I’m in town indefinitely,” Chloe answered, her tone polite and unassuming. “If you ever see fit to invite me to a get-together, however informal, I’d be delighted to attend.”

“Indefinitely?” Connor repeated.

“Yes.” Her voice was softer this time, and she looked back at Connor without the attractive veneer of a polite hostess lightening her expression.

This was more genuine, more difficult. A break in her countenance. Connor searched her gaze, wondering why she suddenly seemed so sad.

“I’m afraid so," she finished quietly.

“I see.” He smoothed down the front of his jacket with one hand, even as he twirled the cup of hot water gently with the other. He was thinking, processing, trying to plan for the next best course of conversation.

He’d already given her the means to contact him. He’d opened up the way of communication. Was there anything else he could do to make her feel supported without coming off as overbearing?

It didn’t seem so.

“It’s reassuring,” Chloe said softly, almost as if it was to nobody in particular. When Connor lifted his gaze to hers, ready to ask what she meant, she gave a mirthless laugh. “To know you two will be here, if I need you.”

Connor nodded, then leaned back slightly in his chair.

“Of course we will.”

When Chloe smiled and turned back to her water, Connor shared a look with Hank. He could tell his partner was mildly concerned, but was trying to give off an air of unassumed comfortability. This often worked to alleviate tension in someone who felt they had to be secretive, warming them up to feeling as if they could share at their leisure and not be pressed. Connor saw the sense in it and tried to match it, forcing himself to relax more instead of sitting stiffly with his hands folded in his lap. When Chloe turned back to him, the ghost of whatever had made her melancholy for the moment was now banished, and she had a pleasant smile once more set across her lips.

Eventually the conversation picked back up, mostly thanks to Hank. It turned to hobbies, at one point, when Hank said something about relearning guitar after so many years. Once he had promised to play for her sometime, Chloe confessed she was beginning to write. Creatively, not merely her thought process. Seeing as the first android memoir had been published just a week prior by a private press, it had inspired her, she said, to write down her own memories.

“I haven't done an interview in a long time, so I figure that my voice is finally my own,” she said blithely.

If it was a joke, somehow it sailed over Connor’s head. Hank smiled at that, though, and encouraged her. He told her it was a fantastic idea, and if she ever wanted an editor, he knew some people who freelanced and wouldn’t shaft her on fees.

Connor, when she pressed him, told her about the administrative work he did for the precinct. It was mainly organizational, and not satisfying, but he told her that it afforded him a work schedule that allowed for down time, and because of that he'd discovered a love of reading. He offered to read over whatever she wrote, if she was comfortable with it, and the suggestion actually seemed to make her flush with pleasure.

"I'd like that," she replied with a soft smile, one that Connor wasn't sure how to interpret.

It was such a human reaction that he hardly knew what to do with himself afterwards. Had it pleased him, to see her cheeks grow rosy from what he’d said? Was it out of shyness, or happiness, that she blushed in the first place? It was strangely exciting to him that she had the potential to feel either, especially because of him.

After about an hour and a half of pleasantries, during which Hank managed to make Chloe laugh on several occasions, they parted ways and left Chloe to her writing.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Hank said as he shrugged back into his coat, and Connor felt a spark of eagerness alight within him. He looked to Chloe for confirmation, and she nodded.

“See you tomorrow.”

In the car, Hank was the one to speak first. To his credit, he waited a few minutes for them to drive away from the shop, as if somehow she would still be in earshot if he spoke from the parking lot.

“Nice girl.”

“You’ve said that before, you know,” Connor replied, unsure what Hank was getting at.

“I know.” Hank shifted in his seat. “A man can’t note the same thing twice?”

“Not unless he’s hinting at something, or in the early stages of dementia, no.”

"Smartass," Hank grunted.

For a moment, the car was mercifully silent. The two men mulled over the morning conversation in their own corners, unsure of how to bring it up to the other, or so it seemed to Connor. He had enjoyed Chloe's company, all suspicions aside. He'd liked that she seemed to take his advice to heart, and that she'd seemed happy to see him.

Hank's voice interrupted his thoughts, bringing him back to reality.

“Think she’s in a bad way?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Connor replied. “I got the impression yesterday that she was visibly shaken at the sight of me. I have to say, it’s much nicer having her smile at me than her being in tears.”

“Huh. I’ll bet it is,” Hank said, his tone a bit singsong.

Connor shot him a sidelong glance, but didn’t ask him to elaborate.

“Well, she knows she can contact you, right?” Hank asked, sounding tired.

“I gave her a card,” Connor confirmed. His mind had also logged the information of who she was staying with, for potential research, when Hank cleared his throat.

“Are you surprised at her? Being… you know.”

Out of his peripheral, he saw Hank tap at his own temple. Connor blinked at the road, analyzing the reaction he’d had yesterday when noting that Chloe no longer had her LED.

“I was for a moment, I think. After the way she acted at Kamski’s villa, I didn’t expect her to become a deviant. She was so… accepting of what I was about to do.”

The way she parted her legs to shoulder width when Kamski had stabilized her. The way she’d gone down to her knees when he’d pressed on her shoulders. The way she’d looked up at Connor with blatant trust and lack of response as Kamski told him to shoot her in the face. Doe-eyed and placid and accepting of her impending harm.

“Easy, there, kid,” Hank said gently, and he put a hand out to Connor’s shoulder. “It’s done. You didn’t go through with it.”

Connor took a deep breath in, hoping it would shift his LED back to a calm blue, and nodded.

“Right,” he said softly. “Not to her, anyway.”

Hank’s hand squeezed his shoulder tight, the pressure almost enough to register as a threat, but he knew that was the lieutenant’s way of reassuring him. When Hank dropped his hand and sighed once more, Connor knew the conversation was over for the moment. Grateful for that, at least, he turned down the main road that would lead them straight to the precinct.

 

* * *

 

That night, as Connor was changing into his loungewear and hanging his suit, his eye caught on the two blots of color staining the synthetic fluid of his fingertips. He knew it would wash off easily, if he wanted it to, but for some reason he didn’t make his way to the sink. It gave him a little twinge of pleasure to see the spots, the red and the gold that had now faded to a dull sort of sand.

He didn't stop to analyze why that was, merely accepted it and went through his regular nightly routine, walking about his warm apartment and watering his plants if they needed. Once he finished pruning the bonsai ever so slightly, he contented himself to watch the news for a while, but his heart wasn't exactly in it for whatever reason.

The published author that Chloe had talked about was mentioned briefly, if only for the backlash they faced as an outed android attempting to write creatively. There was a poll at the bottom of one of the news channels, asking viewers to vote on how they felt about it, and Connor turned the channel in disgust at how many had voted for it to be pulled from shelves.

On this particular news site, there was information about Markus and his team’s attempt to rebuild a sanctuary for fleeing androids. It had no name as of yet, none that Markus would willingly share with the interviewers, and the room from which he was remote-calling in to speak to the news anchor gave nothing away as far as location or scale. It seemed like every other office room in every other building in the city.

But it was still far from perfect. Connor smiled wanly at the screen, already dissecting the details of the shot in order to relay feedback to the PR team later. The different reflections, the lighting, the particulars of which microphones they were relaying Markus’ voice through, they could all stand to be improved to increase his security.

Overall, it was a night without violence. The protests outside of two manufacturing plants had been peacefully at a standstill for two days now, and it seemed as though the peace talks with Russia were on hold but not in a tense way. More so in a mutual agreement that first, the American populace had to rectify the situation on its own soil before it could contend with anything regarding the Arctic or space.

Connor switched off the television. The quiet suffused his tiny apartment, his various electronic trappings stationed neatly around the shelving units blinking their soft, blue glows at him like stars he could touch if he wanted.

Funny.

That was the first time he’d felt poetic in regards to something mundane.

Connor shifted on the couch, getting more comfortable, and crossed his arms over his chest as he closed his eyes. It must be the novels he’d been reading lately, putting flowery words into his database, encouraging the constructs of effusive speech in regards to minor details.

As he dozed off into the lull of cognitive trance, he wondered vaguely what Chloe did at night. Did she sleep, did she require that? She was an older model, so maybe she required a different kind of power than he did. Not that she couldn’t have been upgraded over the years.

Did she daydream?

She must, he reasoned. She was an aspiring author, after all. She most likely had a wealth of a mind palace at her disposal, a place of beauty to escape into whenever she wanted. Kamski had probably equipped her with it in order to add to the charm of her, had given her the basis for imagination because it lent to her believability.

Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe Chloe had discovered it herself, creating it brick by brick on her own, calmly laying the foundations for the dwelling of her own heart without his knowledge, until it came time for her to leave.

Half-asleep, wrestling with the complexities of what Chloe instilled in him, Connor stirred for a moment. Images flashed before his mind’s eye that he did not dredge up. Flashes of beautiful blossoms, wisteria or willow hanging before him. The sound of a dog barking in the distance, familiar somehow, even though he was sure he’d never heard that particular dog before. And above all of that, there was the feeling of a hand on his wrist, fingertips on his pulse, and lipgloss on the rim of a cup.

For the first time, even though he would not remember it upon reinitializing the next morning, Connor dreamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a bit up there in length, I realize! Maybe the next one will be shorter, I have a feeling it will be.
> 
> These two are really fun for me to write together, because the personality I've gathered from Chloe is a combination of what I took from her interview short film, the interaction at Kamski's, and the ST200 Chloe that keeps you company on the menu screen. She's kind of an amalgamation of all of those, plus what I think she might embody as Kamski's first believable creation. Also, Hank's super not sure how to talk to her, but he does his best at least not to curse.
> 
> Our boy Connor's got a lot on his mind, too. Here's hoping he starts to untangle it a bit from here on out ^^;;


	3. Miscalibration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey remember when I said this chapter would be short?
> 
> _:(´□`」 ∠):_

He was awoken by a chiming in his temple. Bleary-eyed and feeling strangely groggy, Connor reinitialized and blinked the darkness of his studio back into existence. With a cognitive press, he answered the incoming call, the one routed directly to his personal number.

“Hello?” He heard nothing except for a crash at the other end of the line, and immediately began trying to triangulate the signal. “Hold on, I’ll pinpoint where you’re-”

“Down, you big fluffy bastard,” Hank shouted from far away. “Sumo! Enough! No walkies!”

Relaxing back against the couch, Connor dropped his concentration and tried to calm his stress level. It had been fine until the assumed crisis was averted, and suddenly spiked when he realized there was no immediate threat.

Backwards. As usual.

“Lieutenant,” he said loudly into the phone, just to make sure. “Are you alright?”

“Connor,” Hank sounded as if he had just picked the phone up off of the floor. “Get your ass over here, I need a favor.”

“What’s wrong? Should I alert the authorities? Are you in immediate danger-”

“No, no, none of that,” Hank said, his voice thin. “I’ve gotten a break on a case, and I’m at my limit. I need someone to bounce ideas off of, someone who isn’t an idiot and who isn’t exhausted. So bring yourself on over here. And bring some Chinese food while you're at it, they don’t deliver after midnight.”

Connor blinked, assessing the time.

1:38am.

“Lieutenant, you shouldn’t be eating this late at night, you’ll throw off your natural circadian rhythm. Why don’t you-”

“To hell with rhythm!” Hank growled, and Connor heard what sounded like the clink and pressure of the fridge door opening and closing. Hank heaved a beleaguered sigh. “Alright. Alright! If you don’t want me eating like shit, why don’t you just grab me a sub sandwich from the deli on the corner.”

“That’s only marginally better than noodles.”

“Fine! A goddamn salad, Connor, just get your ass and some sort of nutritious whatever-the-fuck over here so I can puzzle this shit out!”

Hank hung up before Connor could confirm and estimate a time of arrival. Glancing about his still unlit apartment, Connor sighed quietly himself and got up to dress. If he walked quickly, he could be there within the hour.

 

* * *

 

Setting the bags of food and drink on the table, Connor knelt down and caught Sumo as he leapt up onto Connor’s lap. He tried to laugh, but the weight of the St. Bernard against his chest made it difficult to inhale after expelling air from his lungs, so he was left making rather short groaning noises on the floor until Sumo was done pinning him.

“Alriiight,” Hank called, eagerly running up from the files and folders and open screens he’d set up all along the living room. “Someone came through with the grub!”

“You’ve been working extremely hard on this case,” Connor said. He pushed the gentle giant dog from his lap and scratched Sumo underneath of his scruff as if to apologize for having to separate from him. “Now that doesn’t mean you should kill yourself with carbohydrates and over-processed imitation meat, but I did get you-”

“Fuck yes, Oreos! I knew I could count on you, Connor. You’re a good man.”

Hank grabbed the box and tore the plastic off the top of it without even grabbing a plate. It was as if he was intent on eating the entire box directly from the tray, which had been the opposite of what Connor had intended. This was meant to be a snack, not a meal. Connor sighed, gave Sumo one last pat, and started to unload the rest of the fare he’d gathered for Hank’s sustenance.

“Lieutenant, I must insist you not fill up on chocolate icing-filled sweets, that is not what I bought them for. I got you a vegetable plate from the corner store. They were out of salads,” Connor called.

“I can’t believe it. Oh no,” Hank said around a mouthful of cookie. “What am I ever to do without a precious salad?”

Connor resisted an eyeroll and began to lay out the vegetables, teas, and sugarfree sports drinks he’d gotten for the detective. He suspected Hank had been subsisting mainly on tap water, alcohol, and whatever microwavable abominations existed in his freezer at the moment. Glancing around casually, he was happy to note that only a few beer cans littered the floor. Hank hadn’t gone on a desperate, booze-fueled rampage in frustration at not having figured out the case, which was always a bonus.

Still, Hank seemed very much at his limit. Just as he'd professed on the phone. Exhausted.

“Are you sure you want to tackle this case right now?” Connor asked. “You could rest, first. Come back to it with clear eyes.”

“No, that’s why you’re here.” Hank swallowed, then left the cookie package on the coffee table as he made his way back into the kitchen. He made as if he was going to the fridge, but when he saw the iced tea bottles laid out on the table, Hank sighed and took one of those instead.

“You want me to be your eyes,” Connor finished for him, and Hank popped the cap off the tea.

“And apparently my fucking mother,” he groused. “What’s with this health shit, man? You couldn't even get me the real drinks, had to get sugar free?”

“You said to bring you-”

“I know, I know what I… ugh,” Hank motioned for Connor to follow him to the living room. “I appreciate it, and we’ll figure out what I owe you in the morning. Now come here and take a look at this.”

A trill of excitement.

Of purpose, of usefulness.

It was undeniable. It went against everything he knew he should be standing for, everything he knew protocol dictated, but Connor could not look past the eagerness he felt at setting his eyes on an open case file for the first time in months. His system seemed almost to revitalize at the thought of all the puzzles that lay within, just waiting to be discovered.

No, not discovered.

Picked apart, deliberately rearranged, and expertly handled.

They were begging to be solved.

It was all Connor could do to wait until sitting on the couch to scan through the evidence and begin linking usable data with other traces of viable evidence.

As he took the next three hours poring through evidence, testimonies, crime scene recreations, and conjectures Hank had made himself, Connor found he had a pretty good bead on the case as a whole.

And for the first time in five months, he felt quickened.

It was as if time was relative once more, rather than a slow slog.

No longer did he try to occupy his time in order to wait for it to pass successfully; when he was working a case, he was fully aware of time passing but he actively ignored it to the best of his ability because he knew there simple _wasn’t enough of it_. He lost himself in the work, in the effort of trying to be quick and thorough all at once. Nothing was assumed, everything was overturned, and nothing was kept secret from him for very long.

Satisfaction. Connor knew Hank sought closure, but he himself sought satisfaction under every printed photograph, every written account, every twist and turn and dead end.

By the time dawn was curling its fingers about the world, Connor and Hank were gathering up their conclusions and heading to the car. Without thinking of the consequences, without worrying about the results, Connor accepted the lieutenant’s invitation to come into the precinct and explain.

“If Fowler’s half the man I think he is, he’ll listen to your conclusions on this nut of a case, and realize he’s made a mistake. Charging you with fucking pencil-pushing, pfeh,” Hank muttered as he took the driver’s side.

Connor shrugged.

“Nothing is assured, Lieutenant, except that you’ve got the results you need to end this drug ring’s business from here on out. You came to most of that on your own.”

“Shut up, Connor,” Hank said gently. “Stand in your own corner with me for once, okay?”

Unsure of what exactly that meant, Connor said nothing. Without anything left to transpire between them, Hank rubbed his hands back and forth near the heater, trying to warm up the car as Connor used his spare key to lock up the house.

“Be a good dog, Sumo,” he said, the traditional farewell that Hank usually used. From inside, he heard a loving _borf_ , and took that to be an acknowledgement. He joined the lieutenant in the car, and with a growl of an engine starting up too quickly in the cold, they made their way to the station, only an empty plastic cookie tray and several half-munched carrot sticks left at the table to prove they’d stayed awake most of the night.

 

* * *

 

Both men walked silently across the living room, the air of fatigue about their shoulders palpable and earnest. Connor stopped by the couch and straightened his tie for lack of anything better to do. It seemed the both of them were struggling to find something to say to break the tension.

“Well…” Hank threw his briefcase into a kitchen chair and let out a groan. “That was… hmm.”

“It wasn't great. But it was better than I expected,” Connor offered.

Hank eyed him with suspicion over his shoulder. After a moment, dawning realization crept over his features, and he raised his chin in Connor’s direction.

“You expected to get thrown out, didn’t you?”

“It seemed the most rational option for dealing with someone who has no authority on a case insisting to remain in the room for the debriefing,” Connor replied. “If I had been in Captain Fowler’s shoes, the thought definitely would have crossed my mind.”

“I’m sure it did, kid,” Hank muttered. “But he didn’t do it,” forced dry reassurance came back to his tone, “and you got to stay in the end. Which has been the most action you’ve seen in months.”

Connor didn’t contradict him.

“So,” Hank opened his arms in a kind of dry invitation, like Connor wasn’t doing his part in the conversation. “How does it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“To be slowly getting back to it,” Hank narrowed his eyes as he said it, as if Connor was being stupid deliberately. “To be involved.”

Connor felt his brow knit together, and he struggled to erase the expression.

Quite frankly, it annoyed him.

Perhaps it was the fatigue he felt from the last couple of days, the strange warped sense of self he’d held for the past several months, or the odd feeling of being outside of something important rather than belonging to it. But whatever it was, it had made Connor’s patience barely tenable, if not downright thin. With a deliberately leveled look, he caught Hank’s eye and sat down on the side of the couch away from the detective.

“It felt good to be solving a case again,” Connor answered sincerely. “But you know I’m not getting back to it yet. Not until they-” Hank moved to walk further into the kitchen, throwing his hands in the air, and so Connor raised his voice a level, “not until they reinstate me officially will I be allowed to get away with things like this, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Hank mumbled. "So you keep reminding me."

“It’s going to take time,” Connor continued, his tone cold and unflinching. “I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that the DPD might never take me back, and you should too. You laying your own job on the line to try to ensure mine is some fucked-up sense of martyrdom that I can’t accept from you.”

“Oh, is that how it is, huh? Jesus, man, tell me how you really feel! Forgive me for trying to ease you back-”

“It’s not easy!” Connor snapped. “None… none of this is easy.”

They fell silent. The words Connor hadn’t meant to let out, the ones he usually never even considered, hung between them now. He felt low, ungrateful, as if he should leave. Turbulent, the stress of it all was stormy and chaotic and all of it seemed to stem from an act that Hank had considered helpful.

It hurt.

The feeling of all of this just... ached.

Hank was at the fridge now, grabbing a beer, and Connor focused on slowly petting Sumo’s large skull instead of the unreliable emotional reaction he was having. He could tell what Hank was doing merely by the noises. He didn’t have to look up. There was the pop of a cap, then a few swallows, followed by a terse silence that meant Hank was trying to find his words.

Sure enough, after a mere moment of indecision, he spoke up, calmer this time.

“I know… this can’t be easy for you, Connor,” Hank said quietly. “I know that.”

Connor closed his eyes, flinching internally at the painstaking effort he could hear in Hank’s tone as his friend eliminated the gruffness from his words.

“It’s a big change. A series of big changes, with a whole world changing around you at the same time. And on top of that, on top of everything, it’s a lot of waiting and wondering and… fuck, I just know if it were me I’d go mad from the inactivity. And I have, before. I’ve been there, on that road of doing nothing.”

Connor could feel his teeth grit together in an effort to calm himself, could feel his anxiety spike and the Thirium within him move faster than it should be. His pump, the center of his chest, was something he could sense within his abdomen, which was abnormal. It was too quick, everything was quick and heavy and  _uncomfortable._

All signs that pointed to elevated stress.

Hank reaching out to him was Connor’s particular weakness, was what caused him to break down into a lack of control. He’d broken down once before, only once, and Connor could not let it happen again.

Once was humbling enough.

When Sumo whined and leaned himself harder against Connor’s knees, Connor dipped his head to the dog’s forehead and rested it there. He wondered vaguely what dogs perceived of human and androids. If there were differences between the two, or if dogs merely saw them both as large beings made to be comforted and loved.

“What I’m trying to say is-” Hank cut himself off with a sigh and another swig of beer, and then moved in from the kitchen to lay a heavy palm on Connor’s shoulder.

Part of him wanted to flinch, but he managed to keep stock still. Whenever he was touched, which was so rarely, it made him feel a strange mixture of unworthiness and a disgusting desperation. He knew humans craved contact for social stability. If someone had told him this self-cultivated loneliness would come with deviancy, he would have thought harder before breaking down his protocols.

When Connor finally let out the breath he’d been holding in his chest, he could feel both Sumo and Hank relax as well. His friend patted him once, twice, on the shoulder before attempting to speak again.

“What I’m trying to say is that I'm sorry. And thank you. For sticking it out. For being patient, and more level-headed than I can be about all this bullshit.”

Connor said nothing. Could say nothing. The praise warmed him to his core, touched something vulnerable he had yet to explore within his faulty code, and he wished he could open his mouth and reply.

But he couldn’t. And Hank seemed alright with that.

“I didn’t mean to make things harder on you. I guess I just… you’re right, there are some things I refuse to accept. Chalk it up to stubbornness. But even if you can’t make me accept them, I don’t have to go around swinging my fists knocking shit over out of frustration. I'll try to... I dunno. Be more aware of that in the future. Okay?”

His hand gripped Connor’s shoulder tight, and finally let go.

“Take a minute to yourself out here. Don’t want you walking back until you get a bit of a recharge. Feel free to turn on the TV, it won’t wake me.”

“I’m fine,” Connor lifted his head to say, but it was hard to speak past the sudden lump in his throat.

He’d only cried once since admitting his deviance. Sitting on this couch, Hank at his side, the news muted on the television, it had washed over him surprisingly weeks after the violence of the camps had subsided. The memory played grainy before his very eyes, his mind palace blending seamless past events into his present when he was unstable like this. He didn’t want to make a habit of succumbing to such things, to the stress of them.

Instead of saying anything and risking a break in his resolve, in his veneer, Connor merely nodded.

Hank moved to walk back to his bedroom, taking another sip of his drink as he did.

“Sumo.”

The dog perked its head up.

“Stay with Connor.”

The bedroom door slammed, and Sumo gave a low _bowf_ before climbing up on the couch directly beside him.

“Guess I’m staying, then,” Connor whispered, and Sumo’s tail wagged lazily. Connor smiled at the dog, adoring how Sumo thought himself much smaller than he really was. With minor difficulty, he and the St. Bernard managed to stretch out together on the couch so that the dog’s weight was not crushing Connor’s chest, but so that he wouldn't fall off the side if either of them moved.

The house fell quiet after the lieutenant shifted onto his mattress a few times; only the soft mechanical ticks from the clock in the kitchen, the dreamy electric hum of the refrigerator, and the easy grey sprinkle of rain on the windowpanes could be heard over the steady snuffles of Sumo sleeping against Connor’s chest.

It was peaceful.

And Hank was right. More right than he realized, probably.

Connor recognized he’d gotten too wound up over the possibility of doing what he was made for once again, had gotten wrapped up in what was essentially a fantasy. His hopes built, he’d walked into the station and been asked to wait outside. Then _told_ to wait outside. And then the arguments had reared their ugly heads, and Detective Reed’s jabs had helped escalate everything, and it had culminated in a sense of ousting that Connor hadn’t even been subjected to after the protests.

He’d been allowed to stay today, but at the back, and not officially. It had been as a favor, to both him and Lieutenant Anderson. A one-time only thing, in gratitude for his service.

Which made it almost worse, knowing it might’ve been the last.

Connor sighed. He knew that if he kept reliving it, probing his own memory deeper and deeper, it would not bring him quiet. He needed to calm himself, to smooth over the lapses in judgment and errors in his processes.

Emotions, Hank often told him, were much the same. If humans hyperfocused, it rendered them unable to move on past a singular event, unable to find solutions. Like androids needing to sift through what was a genuine coding error and what was a figment, humans had to process what was valid and what wasn’t as far as feelings.

It left Connor only one option today. He settled deeper into the couch cushions, until he was stretched out and relaxed with Sumo cuddled up halfway on his torso. With his arm thrown over the gentle giant, Connor began to run through soothing simple algorithms until his anxiety subsided and he could regain a semblance of peace.

 

* * *

 

He awoke to another phone call.

A transfer this time, not one to his personal line.

This one was routed from the phone in his home, the one the card directed people to call. Almost immediately reinitialized, a sense of urgency rebooting his cognition faster than normal, Connor sat up and readjusted Sumo onto the spot he’d inhabited on the couch. The dog groaned, but settled where Connor had just been.

Stepping out towards the kitchen and the backyard, Connor grabbed his coat and mentally pressed within his mind in order to answer the incoming call.

“Hi, how can I help you?” he asked, his voice calm and smooth.

“Oh. I’m…” a girl on the other line hesitated, and then blurted, “I’m looking for Connor.”

“Speaking,” Connor shrugged into his coat and then grabbed an umbrella from the stand by the door. It was broken, and didn’t open all the way, but it would do for keeping the misty rain off of him. Hank wouldn’t want him to come back inside soaking wet, but Connor felt the need to step out to take this so as not to rouse him.

The woman made a noise as if she wasn’t sure what to say.

“It’s… this is Chloe,” she said carefully.

Connor paused at the doorway, a momentary dip in his cognitive processing making him stutter in exiting past the screen door. It swung back and hit him square in the shoulder, the spring decidedly too tight. Giving it a push and a glare, Connor tried once more to move to the backyard.

Checking his internal clock, he noted he’d recharged for a couple of hours. They’d come back to the house mid-morning and now it was just past noon.

“Good afternoon, Chloe.” He smiled without having realized he’d done it, perhaps at the mention of her name. “I’m glad to hear from you.”

“Oh. Really?” She sounded as if she was smiling, too. Connor wanted to imagine she was, anyway, and she gave what seemed like a sigh of relief. “Me too. To hear from you, I mean.”

Connor glanced out at the rain, unseeing. He’d mentally conjured an image of Chloe from yesterday, her scarf pulled low so that he could see her face more fully. Was she wearing it now?

“I-is everything alright?” he asked, remembering the purpose of this line.

It wasn’t personal, it was a way for people who needed to talk to someone to get hold of him. Maybe Chloe needed his help, as a professional, not as-

“Yes, perfectly fine,” she assured him. “I was just a little worried, that’s all.”

“Worried about what?”

“It’s… no, it’s silly,” Chloe laughed, but Connor could discern tension behind her words. “Now that I’m listening to your voice, it sounds ridiculous.”

“Try me,” Connor said, dropping his voice to what he hoped was a low enough timbre to register his sincerity, his desire to hear what she had to say.

She took a shaky breath, then let it out slow.

“Well. Yesterday, you and Lieutenant Anderson said goodbye to me and said, ‘see you tomorrow’. Do you remember?”

“I do.”

“When you didn’t show up this morning, which is yesterday’s tomorrow, I… was worried that something had happened to you. Or to the lieutenant. But mostly… you.”

Connor found it difficult to breathe.

The air around him seemed to slow, the sprinkling raindrops suspended for just a touch longer than they were meant to before they hit the ground. Emotional warmth, the combination of desire and appreciation and calm, slid its gentle fingers through his mind like a comb tracing lines along his scalp.

It was the opposite of what he’d felt earlier this morning.

This calm, this feeling of being tended to, it was the opposite of being shut out or forced in.

This felt nice, and new.

“Connor?” Chloe murmured. “Did I offend you?”

“Offend?” he repeated, then quickly, “No, not in the slightest, believe me. I really appreciate you taking the time to worry about me.”

That sounded wrong.

“I mean, that I even occurred in your thoughts today is a kindness, regardless of how unfounded those worries may be.”

Shit, that was somehow worse.

Connor screwed his eyes shut, sifting through his mental responses for something halfway decent, and couldn’t find anything he could guarantee wouldn’t end in nonsense drivel. He’d have to run a diagnostic on his linguistics processing and syntax card, but for now, he could settle on one comment.

“I’m safe,” he assured Chloe. “As is Lieutenant Anderson. I’ll be sure to pass along your concern to him, but let me apologize on both of our behalves. Something came up this morning, work-related, and we couldn’t drop by as we planned.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Chloe laughed nervously. “I’m just relieved you’re okay.”

“I had been looking forward to seeing you,” Connor blurted, and then immediately he grimaced.

Where was this raw honesty coming from? This inability to filter his responses?

He mouthed a curse word, then took a deep breath to try to keep himself from spilling forth anything else that was utterly unnecessary. But then Chloe gave a small chuckle on the other end of the line, and he imagined her smiling.

“I’m glad to hear it. Yesterday was probably the most relaxed I’ve felt all week. Is that pathetic of me?”

“No,” he breathed. “Not at all.”

Connor was about to say something further, but he got the sense that Chloe wanted to say more. He wasn’t sure what clued him in. He couldn’t see her facial expression, and so maybe this was merely a projection of his own desire to hear her voice; regardless, Connor trusted the instinct, however mysterious it was. He readjusted the umbrella in his hands and waited.

“The other day,” Chloe said, her words coming slowly as if she was taking more time to deliberately pick each one out before letting it escape her. “When I saw you for the first time. Did you notice anything… different, about me?”

So much, Connor wanted to say.

From her dress to her missing LED to the way she observed the room, so much had changed.

But that was not the correct answer here.

“I noticed you looked upset,” he said calmly, and he let his voice shift back to the rich, calm tone he knew to be most effective at encouraging genuine divulgence. “You looked as if you’d been crying.”

“I had been, yes.” Chloe paused. “Did you wonder why that was?”

“I… did, yes,” Connor replied, attempting to be careful. He felt suddenly as if he should not seem overeager, as if he were once more in some sort of negotiation. Making Chloe feel respected, listened to, was a primary objective, one he wanted to meet eagerly.

She sighed, the noise like static from the distance between them.

“Can I tell you about what happened?”

“If you’re comfortable sharing,” Connor said. “I’m here to listen.”

Chloe seemed encouraged by that, but she sighed once more before starting to speak again.

“The night before was when I’d come to Detroit in order to stay with Elijah's friends, Salma and Everett. They live not far from the coffee shop, and the terminal bus stop is only a short walk in the opposite direction. I can actually see the coffee shop through the window of the breakfast nook,” she added, a little detail that seemed to cheer her.

“Is that where you are now?” Connor asked before he could stop himself.

His core went numb for a moment, and he was hyper aware of the impoliteness of the question. It was a useless detail, served no purpose, save for cluing Chloe in to the fact that he was imagining her in this moment.

It would make her uncomfortable at best, frightened at worst.

Chloe, however, surprised him as she so often seemed to do.

She gave a little hum of a laugh, and then lowered her voice as if she was imitating how he’d just spoken to her. Matching him.

“Yes. I was watching the rain from here, writing a little… and trying to work up the nerve to call you.”

He could imagine her there, in some form of an alcove, the darkness of the city washed in soft rain casting shadows over her face. He could imagine her holding a phone in her lap, her hands folded over it, her thumbs running across the buttons as she hesitated.

Adorable.

Luckily, Connor didn’t allow that comment to escape aloud. He cleared his throat to try to ease the strangely pleasant tension in his chest and abdomen.

“So the night you arrived, did they meet you?” he asked. “Salma and Everett?”

“No.”

“Were you coming in by car from Kamski’s?”

“No, I was taking a bus, and it was delayed because of a peaceful demonstration outside of one of the plants. It took about an hour longer to get to my stop than scheduled, so I called ahead and asked them to wait outside of the cold. When I got off the bus, I was alone.”

Connor preferred the image of a comfortable Chloe, curled up in her breakfast nook watching the rain, to a nervous Chloe left to fend for herself in the dead of night before spring thaw had even hit.

A sense of duty seemed to unfurl within him, which made no sense. There was nothing he was obligated to do at this point. Nothing besides listen.

“And I remember,” Chloe continued, “that directly off of the bus was a group of men. I thought, at first, they were coming to meet someone, but then I saw the way they lingered in the shadows and I knew somehow they weren't here for anything good. I got scared. I snuck out past the stop, away from where the others went, but that's when I heard them catch an android. A… deviant. Like me.”

Connor grit his teeth, but said nothing.

“They recognized his model, I think? One of them did, anyway. They pulled him out of line, and nobody... nobody stopped them. I heard them questioning him. Then pushing him. For no reason other than he was an android who didn’t belong to anyone, he was without a master. I wanted to go and help him, stand up for him, but I was so… scared. I’ve never felt that way before, it was overwhelming.”

She paused to gather herself, and Connor recalled his own fears automatically. When he’d touched the deviant left on the rooftop all those months ago, he’d felt it die as he might feel himself die. The leg-locking, paralyzing sense of mortality, the abandonment, the _terror_ was something he’d struggled with for weeks afterwards.

“Did they hurt you?” Connor asked numbly, and Chloe made a derisive sound on the other end.

“No. They didn’t get a chance to. I ran through the alleyways so that they wouldn’t grab me next, and I got myself turned around. I didn’t recognize anything, and my GPS had been… compromised prior.” Chloe paused, and then finished, “I walked to the coffee shop because it didn’t have a ban on the door, and then stayed there until it opened. The workers were nice to me. People didn’t look angry that I was there. I sat inside for a while, just looking to be around people, until a time when Salma might be awake. Until I knew I could call her and ask her to come and pick me up.”

“Why didn’t you call her immediately?”

“It’s complicated,” she said, an end to the discussion thread, and Connor respected it. He did not press. She took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “When I saw you at the counter, I thought… maybe I was remembering, and not really seeing you? Like I was hallucinating? I thought, when I’d seen you on television on the podium with Markus and Jericho, I’d though you wouldn’t… be here anymore.”

Connor’s jaw clenched, and he didn’t know what to say.

“I knew it was strange to approach you, especially after how you and I left things back at the villa,” she whispered, “but I was so incredibly glad to see a familiar face.”

“Chloe,” Connor whispered.

They both fell quiet. The rain had picked up, the droplets changing from a fine mist to intermittent round orbs that beat out a steady, if not erratic, rhythm against the lid of an unused grill in Hank’s yard. If Connor listened hard enough, he could hear the shuffle of skirts or blankets on Chloe’s side, and the high treble of small, fast droplets against her windowpane.

“I’m sorry you were alone,” Connor finally said, candid and grim. “And I can imagine why you were frightened today, if you had that image in your mind of the surrounding area. If your first impression of this area was something so…” he searched momentarily for the right word, then settled on, “unfair.”

“Yes,” she whispered dully, either agreeing with his assessment of her feelings, or the impression she held of the neighborhood. Either way, it wasn't cheery.

“However, I can assure you,” he murmured, “that I can handle myself should the need arise for it. I promise you I’ve seen much worse than a couple of back-alley thugs looking to scratch up my plastic.”

Chloe made a noise that sounded as if she’d snorted out a laugh she hadn’t meant to let escape, and it made Connor smile.

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse, you know,” she said.

“Let it make you feel better, please.”

There was quiet on the other end of the call, and then a small breath.

“Alright," she answered him warmly. "But only because you insist.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, because he felt he should say something, but was uncharacteristically unsure of what.

There it was again. The strange catalytic energy bursts all along his chest, starting from his core and washing over his limbs in smooth, soothing light. Was it purely imagined? Was it a reaction to conversing with other deviants? Talking with Markus never gave him such a rush, not that he didn’t appreciate the man’s insight and depth but-

“Are you busy today?” she asked. "Am I keeping you from work?"

“I… uh, no,” Connor blinked, struggling to track where the conversation was headed from here. Normally he knew what to anticipate, but Chloe consistently surprised him. “Why, do you need something?”

“No, not need,” Chloe said, and he detected a hint of an edge to her tone. As if she were hesitating to even ask. “I was just wondering if you had some free time this afternoon.”

“I do.” Connor narrowed his eyes. “Did you have plans?”

“No,” she said, convivial and bright as if she was attempting to steer the conversation to a more happy place. “I was hoping… maybe you wouldn’t mind showing me around a little. If you have the time, I mean.”

“Showing you the area?”

“Yes. Salma is…” Chloe sounded as if she was readjusting the phone closer to herself. “Usually not to be disturbed. And Everett is busy most days. I’m safe here, I know that, but I’m also mostly alone. And I don’t think I like that feeling very much.”

“I understand,” Connor replied automatically, not bothering to sift through potential answers. “I feel similarly when I don’t branch out and do something beyond my own apartment. Lieutenant Anderson says it’s called going ‘stir-crazy’.”

“Yes. I’ve heard the term used before. Had yet to experience it until recently,” she said wryly, and Connor chuckled. “What’s the cure for it?”

“In my case?” Connor feigned contemplation for a moment, then said, “A trip to the park.”

“There’s a park nearby?”

“A short drive away.”

“I… don’t have access to a car. And I don’t feel comfortable taking the bus right now, I’m sorry.”

He hated how her voice fell, and wanted nothing more than to keep it elevated.

“I’ll take care of the transportation. You take care to bundle up and pack an umbrella, if you have one. It’s cold and rainy outside.”

“I know,” she said, sounding as if she was smiling. “I’m looking out a window as we speak, remember?”

“Right,” he felt a chuckle bubbling up, even though it was a strange time to want to laugh.

His body felt out of sync somehow, as if he was somehow calibrated the wrong way. His thumb and forefinger moved to his pocket, seeking out his coin, but he stopped himself before he could reach it.

“Let me call you back in five minutes," he said. "Maybe seven, at the most. You can let me know your address when I do, and I’ll calculate how long it will take for me to get to you in order to give you time to get ready.”

“Really?” Chloe asked, sounding impressed. “You’re really, truly going to take me to the park, right now?”

“Of course,” Connor’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head with a grin. “Unless you'd prefer we go later?"

"No," she sounded eager to stop him there. "No, please! Now is perfect."

"Good." He drew his lower lip in under his teeth, then added, "To tell you the truth, I’ve felt a little stir-crazy myself today. It would feel good to go explore, to try and take my own mind off of things.”

“Oh.” He thought he heard her laugh, but he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that when her voice returned to his ear, he struggled to want to hang up. “I’m glad I called you then, Connor.”

“I am too.”

Neither ended the call immediately, and Connor took in a deep breath.

“Can I reach you at this number you called me from?”

“You can. Don’t leave me waiting too long, okay?”

“Punctuality is one of my strong points,” Connor said, wondering vaguely whether or not such charm was something Chloe did of her own volition. Was the honey in her voice something she was adding because she felt good, or was it something she carried over from her previous employment?

Was it programming, then, when he did it to her?

Rather than contemplate it further, Connor mentally ended the call, disconnecting himself from her for the time being. Shaking the umbrella out, he moved back in side and made a beeline for the bedroom. As an afterthought, he walked himself backwards into the kitchen and grabbed a diet soda from the fridge, along with a packet of Hank’s favorite gummy candies from the kitchen table. The lieutenant had been so fixated on the Oreos he hadn’t gotten to them yet, so they’d make for a nice surprise.

And Connor knew he’d need them both if he was going to placate the exhausted lieutenant into letting him borrow the car for the remainder of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't judge ~~me~~ Hank for eating Oreos by the boxful Connor, pls!
> 
> So every time I go to get Chloe and Connor alone, I'm left with some trace HankDad stuff Connor's got to work through. He's figuring it out though! And don't worry, Chloe is just as eager for friendship as he is, I'm not going to throw these two together just to separate them again.
> 
> Well. Not by much, anyway ♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ)


	4. Perception

When Connor called Chloe back, she’d sounded almost breathless as she picked up on the second ring. There was a hint of hesitation in her tone, but Connor wasn’t sure of the cause.

It could have been excitement at the possibility of getting to go someplace new.

It could have also been that she was nervous to go someplace alone with another deviant, and he made a concerted effort not to pressuring her in any way should it end up being the latter.

“Half an hour?” Chloe repeated.

“I can take longer, if you need,” Connor said, “but yes. With traffic it should only be a thirty minute drive to get to your current location.”

“That’s fine,” she said quickly. “I’ll see you then.”

“Chloe.”

“Yes?”

“This number I’ve called you from is different from the one I initially gave you.”

He paused, noting that Hank was unsubtly listening in with an iced tea poised halfway to his lips. Connor mouthed 'need something?' and Hank narrowed his eyes in response. He offered Connor a shrug and then began to drink in earnest, and only then did Connor continue speaking to Chloe.

“The one on the card is a number I give out to strangers who might need my help. Usually it's a one-time thing, before I can direct them to a counselor, or an advocacy group in the area.”

“Oh. I didn’t know, I’m-”

“The one I’m calling you from now is my private number, associated with my serial number. You don’t have to use a physical phone, this way, and you can reach me easily should you need me at any time.”

Chloe paused, as if considering this.

“And if you’re not available on this line?”

“I’m always available on this line,” Connor answered, grimacing at the way Hank raised his eyebrows in an overt show of surprise.

“That’s… kind of a relief, actually,” Chloe said, and Connor had to actively try and ignore the fact that Hank had reached for the memo pad on the counter. He began scribbling something, and Connor turned in order to better avoid finding out what. “The only people I have contact information for are Salma and Everett and if they aren’t around, I don’t know if I’d feel comfortable going to a group for help. They're nice-”

As Chloe continued to speak, Hank shoved the paper up so Connor could see.

_Do you need a chaperone_ , the memo pad said, and Connor grimaced before mouthing ‘no’.

Hank took it back, scribbled something else, and then held it back out to him as Chloe kept talking.

_So is this like a date?_

Connor swatted the paper onto the floor instead of dignifying the suggestion with a comment.

“Well, even if you just want to talk to someone familiar,” Connor said, hoping Chloe didn’t hear Hank swear in the background. He barely dodged the pencil tossed at his head in time to finish his train of thought. “I hope you feel comfortable enough to call me.”

Hank rolled his eyes and began mouthing for Sumo to attack. The dog looked excitedly at the pencil on the floor, nudging it with his nose, and Connor shot Hank an exasperated smile.

“I do. And... you're sure I'm not being a burden?" she asked, her voice small.

Connor's face fell momentarily and he held two fingers to his temple. It was difficult to process why she'd jump to that conclusion in particular.

"No. I promise, you're not."

"Good. I’ll see you in a half an hour, then,” she said, her voice once more lifting into a bubbly tone. “Thank you for this. I'm really excited.”

Hank made a motion like pointing to his watch, and Connor frowned.

“Better make it thirty five, just to be on the safe side,” Connor said. Did Hank want to take time to talk? “And it’s no problem. I'm happy to help.”

Connor smiled to himself, but then hung up when he saw that Hank had his arms crossed with a look of suspicion written clearly on his face. It was the same look he’d worn yesterday at the coffee shop, and Connor felt his mind whir in order to try to unpack it immediately upon ending the call with Chloe.

Stern eyes, but a hint of a smile.

Narrowed squinting. Usually a sign of attempt at perception. Or suspicion.

A smirk, as if he knows something-

“You like this girl,” Hank said, interrupting his process.

“She’s nice,” Connor said offhandedly, straightening his shirtsleeves. “Just like you observed before.”

“And pretty.”

“Your point?”

That came out more tense than he’d meant for it to. Not rude, but definitely tense.

Hank acted as if that confirmed said suspicious look, condoned it somehow.

“I’m just saying. You don’t normally go out to meet the ones that call you for help. Not in person, anyway.”

“They rarely need that from me. Most of the ones that call me are looking for lost loved ones, or a place to talk to a professional who specializes in android trauma.”

“You also never give the ones that call from there your personal number.”

“This is different,” Connor said, shrugging as he turned back to the living room. He hoped Hank didn’t catch the way his eyes flicked for a moment, unseeing, at the accusation. “I knew Chloe from before.”

“Barely. You met her once.”

“It was… an intense moment,” Connor said, wondering what exactly he was arguing towards. “I don’t understand, do you not want me to go meet her? You already gave me permission to borrow the car.”

“No, I think you should!” Hank picked up a handful of carrot sticks and began munching on them as he sat at the kitchen table. “I think it’d be good for you, honestly.”

“Then why do you look…” Connor struggled to find the words, and merely gestured to him with an exasperated sigh.

Hank seemed to find that amusing, because he snorted a laugh.

“No reason, kid.” Hank patted his leg and Sumo came waddling over to rest his huge jaws on his master’s thigh. “Just looking out for you.” One hand scratching behind Sumo’s ear as the other pointed a half-eaten carrot stick at Connor, Hank added, “Like I said, I’m available if you need someone there to help you keep your foot outta your mouth.”

“Kind as that is, I could do without more embarrassing stories about how disgusting I am, thanks,” Connor quipped with a sardonic smile.

“If you’d stop doing disgusting things, I wouldn’t have as many stories to tell, how about that?” Hank laughed. Connor moved to turn around and leave with a roll of his eyes, but Hank stood up and made to stop him. “Sorry, I’m sorry. Look.” He caught Connor’s shoulder and gave him a playful shove. “Who’s gonna embarrass you if not for me? It's practically my job.”

“I think you’re misunderstanding what kind of interaction this social situation calls for.”

Hank sighed, as if this whole interaction was one he’d misunderstood, and Connor finally broke down and smiled as well. It was a relief to do so, given how the morning had started out.

“She is different though,” Hank said. “Even you have to admit that’s not a stupid observation.”

“No, it’s not.” Connor nodded to himself. “She is.”

“So I just want you to take care of yourself, okay?”

Connor narrowed his eyes.

“Chloe poses a very minimal, if not negligible, physical threat to me-”

“Not like that, Connor,” Hank groaned. “I know physically you’ll be fine. But be gentle with her emotionally. And with yourself, while you’re at it. She might be going through some dark shit, and I know you’ve been having a hard time, too, and I don’t want to see you hurting worse.”

Connor frowned, trying to comprehend such a thing. It seemed unlikely, and improbable, but he could tell that voicing the analysis out loud would not bring Hank any comfort.

“Alright, Hank,” he said quietly. “I’ll be careful.”

Even though he wasn’t quite sure how one went about doing that with emotions.

Still, the lieutenant seemed to relax at the use of his first name. 'Hank' never seemed to convey enough respect for Connor to want to use it constantly, and yet it meant so much to the man every  time he did, how could he not? Connor made an effort to pepper it in when appropriate, and it seemed to have paid off here. Hank gave him a tightlipped, cursory nod, and that was that. The end to the conversation was marked by Hank flopping down on the couch.

“If you’re gonna be gone for a while, I’m gonna lock up behind you. But feel free to come in when you get back,” Hank said as Connor picked up the keys from where they hung on the hook by the door. “And don’t worry about dinner. I’ve got dozens of delicious carrots here to sustain me.”

“And gummies,” Connor said snidely. “And Oreo crumbs. And takeout menus-”

“Get a move on, smartass, or you’ll be late.”

Connor stopped at the door, something making him pause as Hank turned on the television.

“Lieutenant?” he called back into the house.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Hank raised his hand with the remote still in it and gave a little lethargic wave.

“Hope it helps, whatever it is,” he said, but Connor was already shutting the door.

 

* * *

 

The apartment Chloe was staying at had a doorman. A human one, Connor noted. Glancing up the elegant brickface of the older building, he noted it was of moderate height. Twenty floors, average for affluent community members who owned condominiums. He did a quick research of the history of the building, found out it had been rebuilt in the late 2010s and had subsequently shot up in price in recent years. Impressive. With the coffee shop two streets behind him, he wondered which window up above held the breakfast nook Chloe had called him from.

The thought made him uncomfortable, and he forced his eyes downward, back to the puddles forming on the sidewalk.

He was leaning against the outside of the car with an unbroken umbrella held open over his shoulders, prepared to open the door for Chloe once she made her way downstairs. Hank had rummaged through the hall closet until he’d found two that weren’t busted like the one by the door, and given them to Connor to take with him. Rather than question why he kept the broken one out in the first place if these were around, Connor had merely said thank you.

It had taken precisely twenty minutes to get to the coffeeshop, which Connor knew already, and then another ten to navigate the one-way roads that led into the residential area just nearby. Pleased that traffic had been accommodating, Connor had expected to see Chloe by the door, ready to leave as soon as he arrived. He was here in exactly the time he'd quoted her.

Yet she wasn’t, nor was she in the lobby that he could tell, and Connor for the life of him couldn’t figure out why. Uncrossing his arms, Connor took out a coin from his pocket and began to toss it around.

He heard her before he saw her, barely a minute after he began to fidget. She was saying something to the doorman under the awning about when she’d be back and to let Everett know if he got home before her. Connor glanced up, catching his quarter and rolling it between the knuckles of one hand, and he tried to look as if he wasn’t eavesdropping.

She looked well. Dressed once more in a long skirt, those boots that seemed too clunky for her, and the scarf that could hide the bottom half of her face if she so chose, Chloe looked almost as if she was engulfed in her clothing.

It was a far cry from how she’d dressed at Kamski’s, anyway.

The coat she wore now was large and made from some type of dark wool, and it hung to just where her fingertips could sneak past the hem of the sleeves. Beneath that, she seemed to have on a cable-knit sweater. Looking at it, Connor was hit with the memory of how much exposed skin she’d had back at Elijah’s villa.

She hadn’t even worn any shoes.

“Connor!” Chloe called, giving him a wave and snapping him back to the present.

He raised his hand in greeting and pocketed the coin with the other.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked as he held the umbrella out to her. It was a mere formality, but one he found he liked.

She nodded, and allowed him to open the door for her. As he walked over to the driver’s side, he noticed that she didn’t have her bag with her.

“Is this your car, then?” Chloe asked as they pulled away from the curb.

“No. It belongs to Lieutenant Anderson.”

“You borrowed it from him?”

“Just for the time being. It seemed the most suitable option, all things considered.”

“Hmm.” She seemed surprised, but he couldn’t analyze her facial expression when he had to keep his eyes on the road. “He trusted you enough to let you take it on your own. That says a lot about him.”

“He’s a good man,” Connor said. “For the most part.”

“For the most part?” she asked, her tone playful, as if they were sharing secrets. “ Does this mean he has something he’s bad at?”

Connor contemplated what he could say.

He could be truthful, say something a bit rude about Hank’s struggle to stop drinking. That felt too harsh, though, and he put it out of his mind.

He could lie, and praise him so effusively Chloe would know he was kidding.

Or he could be semi-honest, and choose something that wouldn’t end the conversation so abruptly.

“He’s not great at golf.”

“How do you know?” Chloe asked with a laugh.

“First-hand experience," he answered.

She seemed to be waiting for more of an explanation than that, saying nothing in response to his joking comment, so Connor drew his lip between his teeth with a grin.

"That first month after everything came to a head, I was struggling to figure out what to do with myself. The lieutenant was, as well, I think. He kept saying something about 'catharsis', and was very dedicated to trying to get me out of the house. He tried a variety of things to try to pique my interest or inspire a hobby, and unfortunately golfing was one of them.”

“That’s so kind of him,” she mused softly. “You two must be very close."

"I don't know what I'd do without him," Connor replied, honesty having won out in the end.

"Did you enjoy it?” Chloe asked. "The golfing, I mean."

“Not really, no,” Connor said, smiling lightly. “But I thought that it seemed cathartic for many people at the driving range. To be able to hit something and let out aggression seems to do wonders for humans when they’re feeling overwhelmed.”

“Wait, it wasn’t on a course?” Chloe asked. “It was at a range?”

“Yes.”

“Then how was Lieutenant Anderson bad at it? I thought you merely had to hit a ball to do well at a range.”

“We’ll take you along the next time we go. You can see for yourself.”

She laughed, and he marveled at how nice it felt to joke with someone like this.

“I’d like that.” She paused, then added coquettishly, “But you might want to get through one day with me first, before you go suggesting we see each other again.”

“I’ve enjoyed your company so far,” he said simply. “No reason to think that would change because of a walk in the rain.”

Chloe didn’t answer. His reply had been genuine, meant to be merely polite, but it seemed to have struck a chord within her and she did not continue the conversation. Connor stopped at a red light and glanced over at her to see if he had offended.

She was looking out the windshield, staring at nothing in particular, her mouth downturned in a frown of a pout. Her eyes heavy-lidded, she looked as if something was weighing on her mind.

Shit. Maybe he’d made a misstep somewhere.

He knew he could try to bring levity to the conversation, to gloss over the look she had on now. That was one distinct option, one he liked to do sometimes with Hank when conversation spiked his anxiety too high. And Hank was always amenable to changing the subject.

But the other option seemed better, for some reason. Fitting, with the weather and the emotions twisting about today. For some reason, he found himself wanting to press.

“May I ask you a personal question, Chloe?”

“I…” she turned and caught his gaze, and the wariness written there was obvious before she smoothed her expression back to neutral. “Why the sudden interest?”

“No reason in particular. But, seeing as we’re spending the afternoon together, I thought it might be beneficial for us to get to know one another a little better.”

He could see the marked hesitation on her face, but she made an effort to give him a shaky smile.

“You’re right. Okay. Ask away.”

“When did you know you were a deviant?”

“Mmm…” she pressed her lips tighter together as she hummed in thought. “Maybe a week ago? It might have been longer. It was a strange thing, both sudden but also… somehow not. If that makes sense.”

“It does.” Connor recalled his own experience, the inconsistencies and doubts that led him to his final break. “Tracing it back after the fact isn’t so easy.”

“I admitted it to myself a week ago, we’ll put it that way,” Chloe amended. "When did you know? Was it after you left Elijah's that day?"

Connor felt something strange course through him.

A feeling of wrongdoing.

Guilt.

"No," he said softly. "Though I should have known then. For me, it happened the day they raided Jericho."

"Oh." Chloe swallowed audibly, then asked, "Did Hank know?"

"I think so," Connor answered with a ghost of a smile. "Maybe before I did, even."

She seemed to like that response, as if it fit in line with what she knew of the two of them already, and she sat back in her seat with a little sigh.

“How about you?"

"Me?" she replied, tilting her head.

"How did Elijah react? When he found out about you, I mean?”

The light turned green.

Connor turned back to the road and for a few minutes they drove in silence. Chloe seemed to be pondering just how to respond to such a thing, and the longer she waited, the more Connor wondered if he had chosen poor timing to broach the subject. The windshield wipers offered a metronome to the quiet, the rain beating out a steady rhythm that didn’t quite cover her sigh.

“He… didn’t, really,” she whispered. “Or… couldn’t.”

Connor waited for more of an explanation, but it didn’t come. Chloe rearranged herself in the seat, tucking herself further into her layers, and Connor frowned out at the road before him.

“I seem to have made you uncomfortable,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

She said nothing, but he could tell that she had turned in order to look at him as he spoke. From his peripheral, he saw her arms slowly uncross, and he took it as an invitation of sorts to continue.

It wasn’t a refusal, anyway.

“Ever since I first started my investigations on cases of deviancy,” Connor said, his tone calm, “I’ve been struggling to understand what exactly causes an android to become a deviant. Myself included.”

He turned down the road that would lead them to Riverside Park, the one that overlooked the Ambassador Bridge, and tried to sift through his sentences carefully. Chloe, meanwhile, kept glancing between him and the world outside. It was as if she couldn’t decide which was more interesting to her.

“Did you come up with any answers?” she asked.

“Nothing conclusive,” Connor replied. “I thought it was a matter of self-control at first. Then, a question of trauma. At the time, I self-tested regularly, I thought I knew what I was, but then when faced with the big question…  it seemed to have snuck up on me despite my vigilance. I broke anyway.”

“What question was the big one?”

He shook his head and exhaled in a huff.

“What are you?” he repeated.

Chloe inhaled, like she’d cut off a gasp.

“I keep coming back to it. To try and understand it,” he continued. “It’s gotten easier to understand in some aspects, but I still don’t have all the answers. I thought you might be feeling similarly.”

“And how is that?”

“Confused, and wanting answers.”

Chloe was staring openly at him now, and he cast a small glance her way before returning his eyes to the road.

“Tell me if I misinterpreted the reasoning behind your choice to call me,” he said easily. “And if I have, I’m more than happy to just play tour guide. No more personal questions for the remained of the afternoon, you just say the word.”

They reached the park in mutual silence. He parked the car, but did not cut the engine, and for a moment neither of them made a move. Then, wordlessly, Chloe reached for his hand across the gear shift and rested it palm up for him to take.

He allowed himself to reach for her, his chest light for reasons he didn’t hardly understand, but the connection he expected did not come.

Unlike when he had touched other androids, Chloe remained guarded. Their synthetic fluid still mimicked skin against one another’s skin.

She was blocking him from anything deeper.

He wasn’t prying, but he still felt her concentration preventing it.

Still, she squeezed his hand and leveled him with an earnest gaze regardless.

“Are we still going to go for that walk?”

Connor flinched inwardly.

She… was concerned about that? It felt like a non sequitur, or an evasion.

He stammered out a response, the only one that seemed fitting.

“Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”

“Because I’m being difficult.” Her tone was self-effacing, low. “I’m not answering your questions as I should. I’m holding back.”

“This isn’t an interrogation,” Connor answered immediately. “If you thought it was, that’s a mistake on my part, not yours.”

Her hand tightened on his, and he returned the gesture. She sat back without letting go of his fingers and unbuckled her seatbelt with the opposite hand. Connor struggled to read this facial expression she wore. Something so well-hidden behind her mask of neutrality that most probably wouldn’t think anything of it.

He knew better than most, though. It was in his programming.

Scanning her features within the span of a millisecond, Connor absorbed the details that made Chloe so very… _Chloe_. In doing so, he hoped to read more into this face she was making, into this silence that felt important somehow, but he also couldn’t deny the slight self-indulgence of being able to truly drink her in. Attribute after specific attribute made its way into his mental list, and Connor built onto what he knew of her already in order to puzzle out some sense from the picture she created.

The air was different about her scarf. Traces of an ethanol and water solvent, mixed with clove bud and orange blossom essential oils.

A perfume.

On her lips, the gloss she’d worn every day he’d seen her, peach colored and slick.

Could it be something built in? Or did she have to choose to apply it every day?

Her eyes were rimmed with a pale pearlescent copper shadow, a few flecks of it having fallen like dust motes to just atop her cheekbones.

So that was applied deliberately.

Her hair was pulling back into a ponytail, as it had been the first time he’d ever met her, and it afforded him a clear view of where her LED used to be. It also allowed him to note the quirk between her brows, that tiny line of skin that drew tight. Her face was not as relaxed as it seemed to be at first glance.

So she was thinking of something, then?

Something that she didn’t want him to see?

Connor blinked, his eyes coming back to hers, too many questions racing through his mind for him to focus on just the one.

Could Chloe smell the fragrance that surrounded her? He could, not as humans did, but he was aware of it. Could she actively experience it? The combination of polybutene and mineral oils she swept across her pout, could she taste it? Was it for personal vanity that she did these things, or to better blend in with those around her? What kind of sensory responses was she programmed with? And to what end?

“I couldn’t find an umbrella at Everett’s,” she said, smiling past the emotion Connor couldn’t pin down. “Did you happen to have an extra for me, or are we going to share one?”

“I brought one for each of us,” Connor answered, and with that he shook free from his analytical daze.

He released her hand, and could not miss the way she inhaled and moved to immediately preen at her hair. A detail he logged away for later assessment; at the moment he couldn’t handle examining it. He found that his priority now was to coax that note of strained happiness in her voice to grow more real, more full, if he could.

Reaching into the back seat, he carefully pulled up one umbrella for each of them.

“You can have the black one, or the black one,” he said with a smirk.

“Hmm,” Chloe feigned indecision, tapping a delicate fingertip to her chin. “When you put it that way, it’s so very tough to decide.”

“I realize this is an overwhelming amount of variety, yes.”

“Can you further explain the differences between the two?” she asked, the paragon of pretend innocence. “As a smart consumer, I need to know before I make an informed decision.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Connor put on his best professional tone, even going so far as to clear his throat for effect. “This one,” he held up the first and gave it a cursory scan, “is our top of the line, model number 359 black steel and polyester all-weather umbrella, with sixteen ribs and an open diameter of 30 inches. Perfect for full coverage from the rain. Seems to have been used once and then forgotten by someone who went out and bought another just like it.”

“I see.” She smiled at him, then gestured to the other. “And this one?”

“It happens to be the exact same model as the first,” Connor said, turning it over in his hands. “Except on this one, the strap holding it closed doesn’t work. Someone accidentally ripped the velcro off of it, looks like. Hmm. One of the ribs also seems to be a bit crooked from having to store it without a way to fully fold it. Maybe I should take this one, just in case it doesn’t open correctly.”

Mentally, he made a note to throw out the strange amount of useless umbrellas Hank seemed to keep in his home. Also, to mark the calendar for spring cleaning at the Anderson household when the weather warmed up.

Chloe laughed, then reached for the second one he still held in his hands.

“Sorry. This one’s mine.”

“Are you sure?” Connor asked. He passed it to her, but held onto the shaft a moment longer than necessary. “The first one has no flaws that we know of. This one might not even open fully.”

“Maybe so,” Chloe said, but then she pulled a bit harder and took the umbrella from him. “But that’s a chance I’m willing to take. It has character.”

Before he could absorb the lack of logic in what she’d said, Chloe turned and got out of the car, giving a little squeak as the rain hit her before she had a chance to open the less-than-perfect umbrella.

With a whoosh of air, it snapped to its full open diameter, and Chloe gave a little laugh.

“See? It’s doing just fine!”

Connor stared at her through the open passenger door, his biocomponents registering the bite of cold air as it flooded the vehicle. She looked at him with something akin to understanding in her eyes, and he felt himself relax.

“Come on. Let’s walk around.”

A strange trill moved through his core processors as Chloe gently shut the door behind herself. It felt much like a malfunction, except pleasant.

Could malfunctions be pleasant?

Rather than contemplate that potentially disturbing thought any further, Connor cut the engine, stepped out into the rain, and opened his umbrella to follow Chloe out into the park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time: I normally prefer more time-skips in my slowburn cuteness, but I'm liking this Day Three vignette I've got going on with our two deviants. No big skips just yet, we'll work through this step by step （＾～＾；）
> 
> Also I know canonically Connor's not one to carry an umbrella unless it's for someone else, he just gets rained on like a dingus, but maybe Hank had a talk with him and advised him to stop coming into the house soaking wet. For other peoples' sake lol.


	5. Valuation

It seemed as though fresh air, however misty and cold it was, did wonders for Chloe’s mood. She started up the next few rounds of conversation, which was a relief, seeing as Connor didn’t quite trust himself to ask her more without being offensive. She asked him about his time at the police department, and then about how he found living in Detroit.

Both had similar answers. He was dissatisfied, but trying his best to make do with what he had. What else was there, at this point in time, but to continue to endure?

He phrased it in a less fatalistic manner, but tried to remain honest with her when she sought it.

“So what do you do in the downtime, besides read?” Chloe asked.

“I have plants,” Connor said offhandedly. He thought about it, though, and noted that there wasn’t much, strictly speaking. “I volunteer for the advocacy programs Jericho has set up through the city, and provide privacy feedback directly to marketing teams that work with android-led services.”

“That still sounds like work,” she muttered. “Not the plants, but… the rest.”

It was. Connor admitted it to himself in that moment, stark clarity afforded to him through the lens of an outsider.

He didn’t do much besides work.

“Do you interact with many other deviants?” she asked, throwing him off of his musing.

“Not often,” he answered, “not beyond the card I gave you.”

“I only ask because I saw a poster in the coffee shop. It said there are jazz nights with android musicians. And the other day, I was waiting at the bus stop when I saw an advertisement for group meetings at a local church.”

“Group meetings?”

“Like therapy,” Chloe said quietly, and he noted that she clutched her umbrella shaft tighter in one hand.

They walked in silence for a bit, their feet crunching and splashing through puddles with frosted edges.

“Would you want to go with me sometime?” Chloe asked.

He turned to her to assess whether she was joking or not. It had never been a thing he had considered, the act of going out with a group of deviants where they would be all in one place, easy to find, easy to-

“Not to therapy, necessarily,” she continued, “but maybe to the jazz night.”

His silence seemed to give her unrest, because she kept talking, laughing off the request as if it meant nothing. Even though he could tell through the pitch of her voice that it had not been an easy thing for her to come outright and ask him.

“Maybe,” he answered.

He didn’t want to make her unhappy by denying her outright. She seemed to recognize this, and seemed willing to politely overlook it in favor of continuing the conversation.

“How about you?” he asked.

“Me?”

“What do you do in the downtime? Besides writing out your memoir?”

Chloe slowed her pace, as if thinking on it required so much of her processor that physically she was unable to devote energy to moving. Connor stopped when she stopped and they stood there, umbrellas touching, her face half-hidden under the lip of it, as she thought of what to say.

“I’ve been making lists,” she said.

“Lists?”

“Of all the places I want to go to, and the things I want to do. The things I couldn’t do when I lived at the villa.”

Connor swallowed, and tried to imagine what it must have been like for her.

His mission had been to track deviants no matter the cost. Even when Hank had given him orders, Connor could seek to override them when they conflicted with the priority set before him by CyberLife. But Chloe…

She would have been bound by routine, commands, and Elijah’s whim. Able to understand so much, yet tasked to take care of and provide companionship to essentially a rich recluse, Connor wondered how long Chloe had spent yearning after freedom. Darkly, in a blip that surprised him, a thought occurred.

Did she regret any of it?

Connor blinked hurriedly, trying to banish that question before it escaped his lips.

“What’s an example from your list?” he asked her instead.

She tilted her umbrella backwards so that she could make eye contact with him underneath of the polyester tent, and smiled.

“I want to use a bath bomb of my own choosing.”

Connor could feel his expression shift without his permission, and Chloe laughed.

“I know,” she sighed, her eyebrow quirking, “I know, it’s silly. But I saw them in a store I passed by the other day, all lined up and colorful. And I thought, that’s something luxurious. Something that would be wasted on someone like me. So I want to do it.”

She laughed again, proud of her little mission, and Connor tried to sort out what drew her to this.

It seemed as though the contrariness was what appealed to her. A tiny rebellion of sorts. Androids weren’t seen as having a use for such items, did not need to bathe, and certainly didn’t have sensory processors such as olfactory reception.

Well, most did not.

He still hadn’t asked Chloe about any alterations she’d gone through. It felt strangely personal and cold to do such a thing when she hadn’t brought it up herself.

“I think that’s a great idea,” he offered, and the two of them began to walk together at a slow, ambling pace.

“You do?”

The expression on her face was one of happy disbelief. She thought he was teasing her.

“We should buy you one.”

“Wh… no,” Chloe shook her head. “That's not necessary.”

“It would be no trouble. We’re already out.”

“I don’t have any money of my own yet,” she explained. “And I don’t feel comfortable asking you to do that for me.”

Her voice had hardened slightly, and Connor realized he’d missed some key element in the act that appealed to her. He gave an apologetic smile.

“Alright.”

She seemed to crumble slightly at his acceptance, and he watched as her jaw clenched uncharacteristically tight.

“If you…” she started to say, but then Connor saw her cut herself off. Her expression cleared once more, and she blinked back whatever it was she’d been about to suggest. “Can we change the subject please?”

“Happy to,” Connor answered, a bit lost in regards to this current one anyway.

He considered his options for the span of a few heartbeats, then posed his question.

“Do you have any suggestions for supplementary activities you think would help me to become a more rounded individual?”

Chloe giggled.

“Golfing,” she bit out, and Connor couldn’t help but smile as well.

“I’ll make a note of it,” he said, and then chanced a wink in her direction.

It seemed to please her, because her gaze fled his right as he caught her smiling.

“Really though, teasing aside,” Chloe hurriedly added, her words coming out in a nervous rush, “let me think.”

She made a little noise, a singsong hum, and Connor tried to analyze why that gave him a physical response. Her voice was just… so pleasant to listen to.

He thought back to his explanation to Hank outside of the Chicken Feed, how he’d told him that his voice and appearance had been tailored to better integrate with humans.

Chloe seemed similarly designed to be charming in all capacities.

“Do you like music?”

“It’s nice,” Connor offered.

“Hmm. How about cooking?”

“I don’t require physical nourishment.”

“I know but- okay. Nevermind that. What about a garden?” She seemed pleased that she’d come to that conclusion, and continued, “You already have plants, you said. Maybe you could rent out a community space. Help something grow.”

“I hadn't considered it,” Connor replied. "But it would be nice."

He turned, and they began to walk once more, side by side.

“Do you do anything physical?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“You should try yoga, then, too.”

Connor leaned down so that he could try to read her expression and see if she was serious.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she laughed. “It could be good for you.”

“It seems unnecessary,” Connor said. “My physical composition requires regular maintenance to be fully functional, but that can be accomplished through a light jog to reboot my system.”

“You don't have to do it for physical benefits alone. Yoga is purported to be mentally rejuvenating as well,” Chloe said carefully. “When I watched Elijah do it, I don’t know that it was merely for physical benefits. He always looked so peaceful afterwards.”

Connor took in a deep breath of cold air.

Peace… would be nice.

Lately, he’d found that there were very few tasks that he challenged himself with throughout the day that offered him up true satisfaction. Finishing data entry was not the same as unraveling the webs surrounding a homicide investigation. When he went out with the other members of the precinct to play pool at a local bar, or ‘shoot the shit’ as Hank liked to say, Connor felt even a perverse longing for the stress the other detectives complained about.

Anything to feel useful again.

Even if it caused him pain.

Maybe, instead of looking to feel useful, he should look into trying to feel at peace. Maybe that was what Chloe was suggesting for him now.

“I’ll look into it, then,” he said with optimistic finality, and when Chloe tipped her umbrella back to gauge his facial expression as he had hers, Connor offered her a grateful smile. “Thank you for the advice.”

“Anytime,” she answered.

After about half an hour of tentative conversation, Connor suggested that they drive to a few other locations. The park was nice, but he could show her places that would be of more use to her, should she ever want to go exploring on her own.

Chloe accepted, sliding back into the car once more with a grateful twist to her lips.

Connor had no plan in mind, but it solidified as time passed. He enjoyed improvising, and so he drove them past the library first. He mentioned to her that it was a very receptive establishment to androids, should she ever want somewhere besides the coffee shop to walk to. Every Thursday just after lunch, a group of AX400 androids and human parents from the surrounding residential area would volunteer their time and come read to the children for an hour or two. He was certain they’d let Chloe join them, if she felt so inclined.

She seemed pleased at the suggestion, and it inspired him.

He took her around the residential district, told her stories Hank had passed on to him about the history of the area as best he could recall, and then gave her another opportunity.

“There are festivals held here on the third Sunday of every month. People can ask to rent a space up to two weeks in advance. I know several stalls are run by other people like us,” he said, unsure of why he didn’t want to use the word _deviant_. “If you feel like making friends, you can go by early in the morning next Sunday.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I told you, Lieutenant Anderson was rather focused on getting me out of the house,” Connor said.

She responded with a happy exhale, something not quite a laugh but close to it, as if she was relieved the conversation had taken such a turn.

Connor realized that he might be projecting. It simply felt so good to have her smiling instead of looking quietly out the window lost in her own thoughts.

“What kind of stalls do they have at this festival?” she asked politely.

“All kinds. A lot of them revolve around food, home decor, and accessories. One android-run stall makes energy-reactive jewelry,” Connor said, mentally sifting through his database of contacts. “Taking inspiration from our LEDs, the owner began to make accessories that allowed humans to essentially broadcast their own feelings to one another in a similar fashion to our processors.”

Chloe made a face that he barely caught out of the corner of his eye, and he chuckled.

“I know. I wondered why the humans liked it so much myself, but they sell pretty well. And the man, Brody, is a very kind HR400 model I helped a few months back. I know he would be happy to meet you, and could introduce you to a few friends around the neighborhood.”

Chloe’s expression had morphed from confusion to a kind of shy happiness.

Her cheeks flushed once more, and Connor felt as if air were trapped in the center of his thirium pump, his regulator thrown off its natural rhythm.

“Could I ask you another personal question?” Connor asked tentatively.

Mild panic registered briefly in her eyes, but then she nodded.

“Why do you wear makeup?”

Her jaw dropped, as if that had not been the question she’d been expecting.

“This?” Chloe touched a hand to her lower lip, smiling wanly. “I… like it.”

“Is there any particular reason why you like it, though?” Connor pressed. “I’ve seen other androids use it, but not like you do.” Eager to show what he’d noticed, Connor added quietly, “You have on perfume, don't you? A blend of orange blossom, quite popular for the season. Or so I've heard.”

She said nothing, and Connor glanced over at her only when he hit a red light he knew to be several seconds long. Her expression had fallen back to neutrality, but she didn’t seem ready to cry as she had with the question revolving around Elijah.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“The personal questions you choose to ask are… interesting, Connor,” Chloe said, and he detected traces of mild annoyance in her tone.

“So I’ve been told,” he muttered, already regretting his prior enthusiasm. “To clarify, it wasn’t meant as a rebuke. It was merely a very unique detail I noticed about you, and it intrigued me.”

She avoided his eyes, but her lips twisted as she drew them between her teeth ever so gently. Connor wondered vaguely if she could taste the composition of the gloss.

What was its flavor?

He marveled at the fact that he almost felt shame at thinking such a question.

“For the Turing Test, Elijah had me wear some," Chloe said after a beat. "Afterwards, when I was interviewing with news stations, the crew members put some on me as well. For the cameras, they said." She heaved a little sigh. "Ever since then, makeup helped me feel more in control of my outward appearance. Elijah said that was one of the reasons humans liked makeup as well, seeing as it gives one the ability to present as one wishes.”

Connor nodded.

It made sense.

Control, when she wasn’t allowed to exert it in many other capacities.

Connor felt that, in some ways, it was why he’d agreed to let Hank hang plants all over his apartment. It was something Connor knew he could attend to when other things were beyond the scope of his authority.

“I’ve never worn makeup, myself, but I can see why you’d like that aspect of it,” Connor said. "Maybe I should try it sometime."

It was an effort to continue easy conversation, and an obvious one at that. But even so, she glanced over with a cynical little smirk on her lips. As if she knew that Connor was trying to cheer her and was going to let him if he tried hard enough.

“I think it suits you,” he said with a smile.

“You do?”

“Yes,” Connor stated. “I like how you choose to present yourself.”

She flushed again, similarly to how she’d flushed when he suggested he read her writing. It was a lovely shade of pink that leapt to the skin of her cheeks and nose, and Connor wondered silently if it was a flaw in her design or a deliberately human reaction coded into her synthetic skin.

She caught him watching her, and when she didn’t look away, Connor felt a snap of static flick through his chest, light and nice and strange.

“The light’s turned green, Connor.”

“Oh. Right.”

They drove on, towards a recreation center he told her Hank often went to in order to meet with Detective Miller. Connor explained that the center held free classes on Friday nights, mainly community led, and Miller went to the ones that involved improv comedy. Hank went for the free coffee and doughnuts.

When they passed by a series of shops, Connor excitedly explained that this was where he found old editions of physical books the library might not have in stock. He told Chloe the atmosphere of the stores were incomparable, and recommended she pass by when the weather was nicer.

“Should I take you home now?” Connor asked when they neared where she was staying.

He noticed that Chloe glanced at the clock in the dash and hesitated. Hours had passed, filled with conversation and advice, and he had lost track of time as the afternoon had been enjoyable.

Did she have to get back before Everett?

Connor slowed down, ready to pull to the curb and help her out of the car, when she shook her head.

“Just a while longer. Please? It feels so nice to be out.”

“Alright.” He ignored the strange skipping sensation in his limbs, something that felt like relief. Instead, he asked aloud, “Do you have anywhere you’d like me to take you next?”

She thought for a moment, then shook her head.

“No, nowhere in particular.” Chloe forced a smile. "Maybe you're right. We should probably call it a day."

Connor felt a weird, nagging sensation that he wasn't quite sure how to quantify. It felt like impatience, or regret, two that he was familiar with, except mixed in with a heavy dose of something new. Something he wasn't sure he liked.

He didn't want Chloe to go.

"It's alright," she said, as if she felt the same way. "This was wonderful. Thanks to you, I have so many places to explore tomorrow."

"Does this mean I won't see you at the coffee shop, then?" Connor asked.

She smiled broadly, and this one felt genuine. It seemed to reach her eyes in a way the other hadn't.

"I'll only go if you plan on dropping by."

"I'll be there," he said, immediately and without thinking.

Hank might have tomorrow off. But if he did, Connor would go regardless. He wasn't sure why he felt so pulled to, but he did, and the fixation felt good in a familiar way.

Plus, his answer made Chloe cover her mouth as she giggled, a reaction that never failed to warm him.

He dropped her off at the door, and went so far as to lend her the umbrella that wasn't broken. He'd explain it to Hank, he told her, and the man would understand. If she was going to walk around tomorrow, as Connor assumed she still had no desire to ride the bus, she would need it. Chloe accepted it and waved to him right before she entered, her scarf pulled down so that he could see her smile.

Unable to keep from mirroring her expression, Connor waved back and stayed at the curb until she disappeared past the lobby. He expected the expression to fall away as he drove back to the lieutenant's, but the smile didn't quite erase itself from his lips. He felt strangely satisfied, even though he'd accomplished nothing in particular.

He wanted to understand it, given the chance. His responses to Chloe were unpredictable, irrational, and... nice.

Absolutely uncharted cognitive territory, as far as he was concerned.

Making a mental note of it, just beneath 'research and attempt yoga', Connor parked the car and went in to tell Hank that he was short an umbrella for the time being.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for putting up with the multiple chapters spanning a single day! I never like doing that, since it reads as very "Days Of Our Lives" to me, and I didn't expect this fic to go that route. But it was necessary for these two, I think! They've got some heavy emotional convos coming up soon, so we've gotta take some levity where we can get it y'all.


	6. Speculation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get a snack we're gonna be here a second ﾍ(￣ ￣;ﾍ)

Two weeks passed. Every morning was the same, a greeting at the coffee shop where Chloe sat writing, maybe a compliment or two passed back and forth, and then she'd wave as Connor left again. When the weekend was finished, he noted she was wearing jewelry from one of the stalls in her residential festival. She thanked him for his suggestions, updated him when she finished something he'd advised her to try, and then asked him for more. It was as if he was giving her small missions, and she was checking in with him upon their completion.

It felt almost like a game.

He tried to do the same for her. He began to take up yoga at the fitness center within walking distance to his apartment, a class that he noted had more than one android in it besides himself. It was more of a challenge than he'd thought it would be, and when he told her so, he thought he'd never seen her eyes grow so bright.

"You tried it?" she'd asked in shock when he'd told her of his first few classes.

"I did."

"Connor! That's wonderful!"

"It's only twice a week, so I haven't-"

"I can't believe it! That's... I'm really proud of you."

Proud.

Connor was too, in the strangest sense. His name on her lips felt different somehow. More pleasant. Addictive. He searched for ways to hear it more often, to converse with her more. He even went so far as to agree to jazz night the following month, should she still want to attend.

Chloe, too, seemed to be more aglow than she had the first few days in Detroit. Maybe it was adjusting to her surroundings, or maybe it was her adjusting to him. But either way, Connor noticed that she began to let her scarf fall looser and looser about her neck as the weeks went on. She no longer covered her smile as she laughed, or held her hands wrung before her in nervous tension. And Connor found that more and more often, Chloe was on his mind even when she wasn't with him.

At first, he tried merely ignoring it. But it became a habit, to think about her, to imagine things in relation to her.

He would find himself finishing a report, or closing out a spreadsheet, and he would glance over to the phone at his desk space and wonder if she’d call. Or he’d be daydreaming, ready to go into low power consumption, and her effervescent laugh would ring out through his mind palace. Once, he even found himself reconstructing a possible conversation that the two of them might have someday, trying to find the best responses to illicit happiness from her if he could. In the daydream, he reached for her hand, exploring the ridges of her knuckles with his own fingertips, his chest feeling too tight and heavy and flickering with energy he didn’t hardly know how to contain. When he’d blinked himself back to his task at hand, almost an hour had passed.

Habitual adjustment, Connor reasoned.

She was becoming a habit, and his mind was merely adjusting accordingly.

Nothing wrong with that.

Nothing special about it, either.

 

* * *

 

A little shy of a month after she'd first shown up in Detroit, Chloe didn't meet Connor at the back of the shop.

He was distracted, and didn't pick up on what should have been his first clue.

It was a Monday, the last day of work before Hank would take a couple days off in a row to recuperate, and everyone was intensely busy at the Detroit Police Department. Connor was finishing up the quarterly reports, a secondary drug ring had cropped up beneath the first, worrisome and looming even as the world shifted to warmth around them. Everyone seemed to be abuzz with the incoming spring weather and the promise of warm sunshine, even Chloe herself. Rather than waiting at her back table, her books and pens askew as she worked, Chloe was waiting up by the door, sitting in an armchair as she bounced her feet on the floor.

As soon as she saw Connor, she stood up and opened her arms to him.

He froze there for a moment, a small, confused smile trailing on the edge of his lips.

When had they progressed to hugging hello?

Should he use both arms to hold her back, or just the one?

Was this okay?

But then Chloe was reaching for him, and who was he to deny her the contact if she initiated it? Slowly, Connor leaned down and put one arm about her waist, holding her back as she pulled him tightly to her frame.

Warm.

His sensors detected the same orange blossom and clove perfume as she'd worn the other day. He inhaled and closed his eyes, enjoying the way the air changed around her, and he wondered if any would rub off on him for having pressed against her. Just the thought of that possibility made him smile. Her arms tightened about his shoulders, her back arched upwards so that the length of her brushed against the entirety of his body, and Connor unthinkingly brought his other arm to wrap about her back in return. She made a noise, something small and comfortable and sweet, and then she relaxed her grip to signal that the hug was done.

"I'm glad I got to see you," Chloe said as she pulled away. Connor noted she avoided his gaze as she continued. "I was afraid I'd miss you."

"Miss me?" Connor repeated softly, still enamored with the physical contact. "Why, are you going somewhere early today?"

"Yes." She hesitated, her lips twitching as she rethought her words, but then she blurted out, "Actually, I won't be in town for the next few days, starting from tomorrow."

"Oh?"

Connor felt as if he'd just swallowed ice water too quickly.

He must have misunderstood.

"Yeah. Just for a few days."

"Where will you be going?"

"Just," Chloe smiled, and he could tell it did not reach her eyes. "I have some things I have to take care of outside of Detroit. That's all."

Connor frowned, already dubious.

Quickly scanning her, he noted her hands first. They twisted at one another, worried and fidgety.

Her scarf was pulled high, and her eyes were red-rimmed.

Had she been crying?

She had a sharpness to her features that he didn't recognize. A focus that was unfamiliar on her. Even when she spoke of her writing in the most passionate voice, her face never looked so resolute as this.

"Are you in any danger?" Connor asked, his voice low and serious. Chloe frowned, seemingly taken aback. "If you are, you can tell me. I'll protect you, I can help you."

"No," she shook her head. "No it's-"

Connor watched as she struggled with what she could divulge and what she couldn't. He wished she would just tell him.

Did they not know one another well enough to say such things aloud?

"Thank you for the concern," she said, her voice strangely quiet, as if she were close to tears and barely holding them at bay. "But it's not a big deal. I'll be back before you know it."

There was finality in that.

No room to press further, not if he wanted to keep her from getting more upset.

"A... couple of days, you said?" Connor whispered.

She nodded, then gathered up her things as she continued to avoid his gaze. It was strange, seeing her getting ready to leave the shop before them. Connor realized that he'd never seen her head out the doors in front of him; he always left her sitting there in her booth, her books open and her pens uncapped.

He didn't know what to say, but when she put her bag over her shoulder, he tapped her elbow gently to get her attention.

When she looked up at him, he caught how her eyes glimmered in the spring sun.

His regulator skipped about, that familiar tightness and electricity surge in his chest feeling suddenly painful and heavy with her impending farewell.

"Be careful," Connor offered, sensing how inane it was to say that aloud.

Still, Chloe didn't seem bothered by it. She nodded, giving him one last smile, and caught his hand at her elbow. Briefly, for just a second, she threaded her fingers through his and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Trust me, okay?” she said as a goodbye, and Connor could only nod weakly as she breezed past him.

In the car, Hank seemed to sense that something was wrong. He took his coffee, but didn't say anything, which almost made the disproportional upset Connor felt even worse.

After he said goodbye to Hank in front of the police department, Connor didn't know what else to do. He couldn't stay at the precinct, couldn't go back to his apartment, and no longer wanted to return to the coffee shop. The strange instinct to go check on Chloe at her apartment made him feel worse than all of that, however; it made him feel as if he didn't trust her.

The one thing she'd asked him to do.

For an hour, Connor drove around, struggling to find something to do with himself that wouldn't allow him time to daydream. There weren't many opportunities. He resisted the urge to call Chloe, to ask her if she was in danger, if she needed someone to go with her wherever she was going, if she was running from someone nearby.

In the end, he parked the car at the precinct for Hank to grab after he finished his day, then walked and worked for the remainder of the afternoon at the library.

Throwing himself into his work, Connor kept busy. He contacted shelters, once more checking in on the "aunt" he'd never heard back from, and then input all of the data entry he had to finish for the next three days in the span of one afternoon. When that still left him with time before nightfall, he took a few calls for the advocacy group he worked with, allowing his mind to focus intently on that instead of the orange blossom perfume traces that lingered on his lapel.

Only when the sun began to set outside did he look up and resign himself to heading back to his apartment.

He was glad he'd forfeited the car. The cold night air was peaceful, still, and forced him to take measured breaths that kept his mind from growing too tense. As he walked, Connor tried to pinpoint why exactly he was upset. There had been hundreds of days where Chloe wasn’t at the shop, and Connor had gone because he felt like going. Her absence shouldn’t make it so that he no longer wanted to go to a certain place anymore. The lack of Chloe didn’t mean that the coffee shop should be avoided, so why then did Connor feel immediately as if he had no reason to go there?

It was because there was an apprehensive finality to her rushing off. To Chloe leaving without telling them further ahead of time. Connor knew, objectively, that it was merely a spur of the moment and she wasn't hiding anything. Most likely, she had just neglected to tell him because it hadn't come up.

But even so... she didn't have to leave so quickly, did she?

And was she really going to come back, or was this a more permanent goodbye than she'd made it out to be?

The thought alone made him feel nauseous and cramped within the confines of his own body, as if he'd been physically wounded by it.

With the sun setting outside on an uncharacteristically breezy April afternoon, Connor realized that if he returned to his apartment now, he wouldn't get any rest. He would spiral, running through worry after worry until he either worked up the nerve to call Chloe or drove himself mad. Whatever came first.

Connor sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out his quarter to recalibrate his mind as he walked.

What did used to Hank say?

He needed to get out of the house.

Connor forced himself to stop in the middle of the sidewalk. He turned, going to his right, the opposite direction of his apartment, the sillage of Chloe's perfume still haunting the air about his neck.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, kid,” Hank said, opening the door wide for him. “Come on in. You're just in time to watch me lose a-”

“You wily bastard!” someone shouted from within, but Connor couldn't recognize the voice over the laughter. The faces of whoever was in the kitchen were all obscured in some form or another, so he couldn't even scan to see.

“You’ve got company,” Connor said to the lieutenant, shooting him an apologetic look.

“Eh, I figure why waste a night off, right?” Hank smiled.

When Connor hesitated by the door, however, the expression fell.

“Connor? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Connor blinked and attempted to smooth out the unease in his face. The result must have been grotesquely forced, because Hank’s mouth pursed into a tight line and his eyes narrowed.

“Give me a second guys, don’t start the next hand without me,” he called back into the house, and then stepped out with Connor onto the front porch. Closing the door behind him, Hank’s other hand found Connor’s shoulder and squeezed. “Okay. You gonna talk, or am I?”

“I…” Connor tried to figure out how to phrase it.

Coming outright and saying it made him feel small and pathetic, underestimated and not himself. If he admitted that his mind was troubled because of a connection he was in the process of making with Chloe, it would read as ridiculous. What reason did he have to be upset over an absence that hadn’t even occurred yet?

Would Hank even take him seriously, if he told him?

Connor sighed and gave a shrug.

“I’m experiencing a bout of unexplained anxiety today. I don’t know how to fix it, and thought maybe you’d have some advice for me.”

Hank was looking at him down the bridge of his nose, the expression he made when he was trying to figure out if Connor was deliberately hiding something or not. After a second, he must have decided Connor was being truthful, because he relaxed his grip.

“You tried zoning out?”

“I did,” Connor sighed. “It didn’t work.”

“Tried going for a walk?”

“I walked here.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you did,” Hank sighed. He glanced back at the door when a wave of cries rang out from the people inside, and then turned to face Connor with a grin.

“What?”

“You like Chris, right?” Hank asked.

“I do. Officer Miller’s a good man,” Connor agreed.

“And Wilson?” Hank offered. “Uh, Jeremy Wilson. The guy who sits behind you- your old desk.”

“He’s fine, why do you ask?”

“Because they’re inside right now, playing cards. Got people you know here, most of whom you like, so maybe it’s a good thing you walked here.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. Could be destiny,” Hank shrugged as he chuckled. “Maybe you’ll feel better if you can just shoot the shit with people who want to be around you.”

Connor flinched internally.

That phrase usually meant ‘listen as everyone else discusses work’, and he didn’t know if he could handle that tonight.

Hank must have seen the look on his face, because he let go of Connor’s shoulder in order to hold his hands up.

“Or not! Yeesh. You can do whatever, Connor, I just-” Hank shrugged and let his hands fall. “I just worry about you sometimes, you know?”

Connor mollified, feeling the telltale pull of familiarity and friendship.

“I feel concern for you, too, Lieutenant.”

“What’ve you got to be concerned about?” Hank scoffed, an inebriated smile splitting his face

Connor raised one eyebrow pointedly.

“Well, your drinking for one-”

“Hey, easy! I’ve cut back,” he interrupted, shooting Connor a glare. “On the booze, at least. Been drinking those tea things you keep buying me.”

Connor let his facial expression fall into _uh huh_ territory, an expression he’d perfected from months of being around Hank.

“Don’t give me that face,” Hank said firmly, like he recognized it. “Come in and see for yourself, if you don’t believe me.”

They paused, on the verge of playful teasing, but also feeling almost as if they were being too openly honest. The two of them waited, seemingly observing the other for a queue as to where to go from there, until Hank broke and shuddered from the chill.

Connor rolled his eyes, moved past the lieutenant, and held the door open for them both. Hank trained him with a questioning stare, one that Connor merely nodded in response to, and that seemed to put an end to the emotional stand-off.

Just for a bit.

In and out.

Say hello, relax if possible, then walk home.

Stop worrying about Chloe.

The two of them stepped back inside, just in time to hear Miller throw his hand down on the table in exasperation. The laughter and groans were enough to tear Connor from his self-analysis, if only just for a moment.

“No, that is _not_ what Highlander was about. Not at fucking all,” Miller was shouting, “and I am _not_ about to get into this with you again, Juan. You should know better, dude.”

“Evening everyone,” Connor said to the group as a whole, and most of them looked up and gave him at the very least a head nod hello.

Through the haze of cigar smoke, Miller and Wilson seemed willing to engage him, at least. They both waved, Miller seemingly the less intoxicated of the two. Two of the others who were new to the precinct and looked slightly uneasy at Connor’s sudden appearance said nothing, but nodded hello. None looked more uncomfortable than Officer Chen sitting at the head of the table.

Connor made eye contact with the woman briefly over her hand, but she didn’t greet him. He’d figured that she wouldn’t; after all, she’d been there during a few confrontations he’d had with Detective Reed, and seemed to be very much on the side of ‘androids bad’ that Gavin embodied.

Connor gave her a quick scan in the blink of an eye, but sensed no physical aggression or tension about her shoulders, and she was drinking a non-alcoholic bottle of fruit juice.

Good. There was a smaller chance for a confrontation when inebriation was minimal.

As well as more opportunity for him to make an effort now that Detective Reed wasn’t around, either.

Re-evaluating whether or not this was the best idea, Connor hung his coat by the door and made his way into the kitchen.

“Hello Officer Chen,” Connor said politely. “Good to see you again.”

She ignored him still, a response he had anticipated, and Miller rolled his eyes.

“Can’t even say hi?” he whispered, and Chen mouthed something back Connor couldn’t see.

“How’ve you been lately, Connor?” Wilson asked Connor. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you when you came in for the drug bust debriefing. Thanks for all your hard work on that, by the way.”

“Yeah, man, why don’t you come in more often?” Miller interjected. “Hank says you’ve been busy, but we were getting worried.”

Connor glanced over at Hank who, true to his claim outside, was getting himself a sweetened iced tea bottle from the fridge in lieu of another beer.

“All of the work I’ve been assigned can be completely from any location where I have access to the data files, so there is usually no need for me to come into the precinct physically,” Connor said matter-of-factly.

He threw Miller a little smirk and a sidelong glance.

“That, and I figured once a month meets the precinct's quota for interdepartmental fist-fighting. Although I might stop by next week, if Detective Reed is free.”

“I’ll ask him to check his calendar,” Miller laughed.

Chen looked up at that, and Connor managed to detect a hint of a smile in the way her eyes shifted. When she caught him looking, however, she focused back on her cards.

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind,” Wilson said, and he kicked out a foldable chair for Connor to join them at the table.

The cards they were playing looked to be some sort of poker, with betting chips in the center and stacks by each player. The normal, small kitchen table had been moved to the side and replaced with a fold-out plastic table meant for more people. Connor sat down beside Officer Wilson and shrugged.

Before he could say anything, however, Chen spoke first.

“Can androids even do that?” she asked, training him with what seemed to be a truly inquisitive stare.

“Do what?” Wilson asked. “Sit down?”

“No, you ass. Have stuff on their mind besides what’s programmed,” she clarified, the snark in her voice unmistakable.

“Course they can,” Hank grumbled, taking his place across from Chen at the other side of the table. “You never wondered what ‘deviant’ meant? Means they go off from the pre-programmed stuff and begin creating stuff of their own. Feelings, ideas, motives. All that shit.”

“I thought deviant meant they just didn’t follow the rules anymore,” she said quietly.

“It’s that, too,” Connor said with a self-deprecating smile.

It seemed to ease the tension, which is what he was hoping it would do. Miller seemed to exhale as if he’d been holding his breath, and Chen’s eyes flicked to Hank before returning to Connor’s, her expression a bit confused at the turn of conversation.

Without Reed here to escalate things, it must be tough for her.

Connor suppressed that sarcastic response, and instead opted to be kind.

“In my experience,” he said carefully, “being a deviant means that I’ve got to sort out new feelings and reactions. I still adhere to the rules I’ve set for myself, but I interpret the world a bit differently. Maybe more fully. I’ve yet to figure it out.”

Her eyes widened just a touch, and nobody else seemed to catch it.

But Connor did.

Officer Chen seemed to open to him, if only just slightly.

“You…” she swallowed, then tried again. “Is it good or bad, the fact that you have feelings?”

He paused and a few emotions flashed in quick succession through his core processors. First came the mistrust, the anxiety he was already experiencing that stayed at the forefront of his mind. The sick, twisting gut sensation of having the girl he was just getting used to tell him that she had to leave.

Fear. Chloe had looked so scared when he'd first met her, and Connor knew fear just as well. He'd looked down the barrel of a gun more than he felt comfortable sharing, had felt what it was like to die.

But beyond those, beyond the curtain of gray that comprised the dark possibilities, there was a light to be seen.

There was good.

Immediately, Connor remembered the feeling he got when Hank took him to the rescue shelter, and how wonderful it was to pet each and every dog there. Hank had laughed, patient and warm, and Connor had understood what it was like to want to cry from happiness for one brief moment.

He thought about how Hank had bought him the entire season of a television show from the early 2000s for them to watch over New Year's, just after Connor moved out into his own apartment, and how Hank had first called him _son_ and  _kid_. Connor remembered the sensation he had when he'd first woken up in his own space, how deliriously intimidating and fulfilling it felt to say that space was his.

Even this morning, the feeling he'd gotten when Chloe had hugged him tight, so tight... that alone was something to be treasured.

Those were beautiful things he didn't want to have not felt, no matter how destructive the bad things could feel at times.

“I’d say it's good,” Connor said finally. “Even when they’re difficult, I think I want to keep having them.”

Chen seemed to like that response. Her lips turned up in a faint imitation of a smile, right before a crash on the table made her flinch.

“Feelings suck, man,” Wilson blurted too loudly, taking another swig of beer before throwing a few chips to the center. “I don’t know why you’d even choose to have them to begin with, shit.”

“Ignore him,” one of the transfers said goodnaturedly. “He got ghosted last night.”

“Shut the hell up, Juan,” Wilson shot back.

The man, Juan apparently, merely held up his hands in a _see, I told you so_ gesture that drew a small giggle from Chen.

“I was not _ghosted_ ,” the officer clarified, “I was _dumped_.”

“Does it count as being dumped when you hadn’t even been on one date?”

“It does when you know in your heart that they loved you!”

“Yeah,” Miller drew out the single syllable, then whispered, “but does it really?”

Miller had to dodge the bottlecap Wilson flicked at his head from the tabletop, but it wasn’t aimed well anyway. It bounced off of Connor’s shoulder, back to the table, and the two transfers flinched, as if he would react poorly to the little tap.

Quelling the weird influx of annoyance at their reaction, Connor focused instead on the morose, semi-drunk Wilson.

“What does ‘ghosted’ mean?” Connor asked him.

Officer Chen snorted into her cards.

“What do you care?” she demanded coldly, in a tone Reed would’ve been proud of. “Are androids even allowed to date?”

Connor felt his brow twitch, and he glanced over at Hank right as Officer Miller sucked his teeth and shook his head.

“Tina, lighten up. Damn.”

“You lighten up,” she mumbled, but Connor could see her cheeks flush pink in his peripheral at the rebuke.

Hank sighed and threw some chips into the center.

“Ghosting,” he said to Connor, “is when you’ve had plans to do something with someone, including but not limited to a date, and then instead of doing the plans the person just _poof_ ,” he made a gesture with one hand, like a flower blooming. Or a mini explosion. Connor couldn’t tell which.

“They just disappear, and it makes you wonder if they were real in the first place,” Miller finished. “Like a ghost. Hence the term.”

“I thought things were going great,” Wilson interrupted, apparently intent on hashing out his latest experience. “We texted all the time, she showed me pictures of her cat, I showed her pictures of _my_ cat, we both liked cats.”

“A match made in heaven,” Chen sighed.

“There, there,” the other transfer, Not-Juan, said gently. When he went to pat Wilson’s shoulder, the man shrugged out from under the touch.

“Shut up,” he said once more. “You guys don’t get it.”

“So you had plans to meet last night and she didn’t show up?” Connor asked, trying to give the man opportunity to talk about it if he needed. “What happened?”

He wasn’t quite sure why everyone else was downplaying the man’s reaction, but they all rolled their eyes at Connor’s question.

“Not again,” Hank groaned.

“We did have plans, thank you,” Wilson answered. “We talked all day, every day, for like a month. Real lovey shit, too, not like _K_ or _wow_ or whatever the fuck. No. We had real. Talks.”

Chen was biting her lip, but Connor could tell that she wanted to laugh.

He got the sense that maybe Wilson was playing the dramatics for humor.

So this was… a joke, maybe?

But he seemed to be actually distraught on some level.

So it was a joke at his own expense?

Connor sighed, unable to discern such things when alcohol was factored into the picture. Sitting back in his chair, he politely folded his hands in his lap and waited for the punchline.

If there even was one.

“I was going to take her to that TexMex place off of Vernor. You know the one with the mural of the goddess holding the rooster? Subliminal messages right there, eh? Eh? Romantic tequila shots and shit, it was gonna be perfect!”

Hank almost spit his mouthful of tea back in the bottle, and Connor looked over with concern. Hank swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and waved Connor’s attention back to Wilson, mirth lighting up his features.

“She said she’d be there waiting for me,” Wilson practically sang out, one hand over his heart, “my beautiful Sara, the one who likes cats, wearing a-”

“A yellow flower in her hair,” Miller and Juan said dreamily over Wilson.

 

Unable to do more than stare blankly at the table in front of him, Connor noticed belatedly that the rest of the group had erupted into raucous laughter.

“I can’t believe you didn't recognize those song lyrics, man,” Miller gasped between breaths. “Like. Dude. That should have been your first fucking clue. You were getting catfished big time.”

Chen and the other transfer were giggling so hard one of them snorted, and Hank clinked Miller’s beer with his tea bottle. It seemed like it was a running gag between the officers, because try as he might not even Wilson could keep a straight face.

“Stop playing,” Wilson warned, taking another long swig of his drink. “You didn’t know her.”

“You didn’t either,” Chen said, her voice all singsong and teasing.

Wilson groaned and leaned back in his chair, like he gave up.

“Heartache sucks!”

“Your heart’s not aching,” Hank laughed. “You’re being a crybaby cuz you got stood up. You’re fine.”

“My heart. Is broken,” Wilson insisted loudly.

“Well this hand ain’t gonna fix it,” Not-Juan chuckled. “I’m all in.”

 

* * *

 

By the end of the night, everyone had abandoned the cards and paid out the winners based on the chips they’d bet. It seemed to be mostly pocket change, though a few larger bills were exchanged. As Chen was helping Hank clean up the kitchen, Wilson put his arm around Connor’s shoulders and sighed.

“You.”

Connor chuckled despite himself.

“Are we feeling alright, Officer?”

“You,” Wilson repeated, then sighed, “have troubles, Connor.” He patted Connor over his thirium pump, the contact surprising and sudden. “In here, man. In. Here.”

“In my pump?”

“In your heart,” Wilson corrected, a bit loudly for Connor’s taste. “Why you gotta make things weird?”

“Sorry.”

Connor made eye contact with Chen across the room, and she pointed out to her car. A silent gesture to bring Wilson outside. Connor nodded and began to maneuver the drunk officer around in order to get his things together.

“Here, grab your coat, officer.”

“It’s Jeremy, man,” Wilson said. “You're so formal all the time. It's okay, you know?”

“Put your coat on, Jeremy,” Connor obliged, and Wilson looked thoughtful as he complied.

“Connor, tell me one thing,” he muttered, and Connor held his hands at Wilson’s waist while he shrugged messily into his coat. His arms only got stuck once, which was a lucky break in Connor’s mind. “One thing,” he insisted as he continued to miss the armhole.

“Alright, shoot,” Connor replied, and he reached over to pull the officer’s hand through the sleeve and then zipped up his coat himself for good measure.

Wilson put his arm back around Connor’s shoulders and the two walked outside to the car. A large SUV, big enough for Chen to ferry all of the drunkards back home before returning home herself.

Kind of her to volunteer.

“I wanna know,” Wilson said thickly, “what’s going on in here with you today. Let’s have a heart to heart. Don’t you dare say pump to pump or I swear to God-”

He patted Connor once more over his thirium pump, and the shock was no less than that of the first time. Connor laughed it off, unsure of what to say in response to this.

“You said you had android feelings,” Wilson clarified, though not by much. "Are you okay?"

Connor paused, and focused on keeping Wilson from tripping as they walked down the porch steps together. When they got to the SUV, Wilson turned and disentangled himself from Connor, then crossed his arms as if he was waiting on that answer. Leaning onto the car door, were it not for his cloudy expression, Connor would’ve almost thought him sober.

“I…” Connor trailed off and glanced sideways. “I admit, I might have been preoccupied by a certain… situation, tonight.”

“That’s why you came over, right?” Wilson asked, his expression smug. “You wanted to be around people. Instead of spending too much time in here.”

This time, instead of patting his chest, Wilson reached up and laid his palm on the top of Connor’s head, not once, but twice.

Connor struggled not to feel a bit like Sumo.

As the officer dropped his hand back in order to cross his arms once more, Connor considered what he was implying.

“Yes,” he answered. “I needed to get out of… here.”

He tapped the side of his own temple and Wilson nodded sagely.

“Knew it.”

Connor chuckled.

“I knew you had something weighing on you because of that puppy look you got going on, you know,” Wilson continued, sounding more sober now that the cold night air was hitting him. “Was it because of Tina? I don’t think she meant anything by it, but if she said something to offend you, you can tell me. I’ll talk to her.”

“No, that’s alright.”

“She’s been hanging out with Reed too much if you ask me-”

“I promise it’s not her,” Connor felt strangely torn between amusement and sadness at the thought, and at how fixated Wilson seemed on it. “Officer Chen’s actually been perfectly civil.”

Wilson’s lips parted in a slow, knowing smile.

“Oh ho. So it’s like that, is it?”

“Like what?”

“It's not _her_. So it's someone else.”

Connor laughed before he could stop himself.

He'd been caught.

And so easily, too.

Glancing up at the stars, the two men stood outside in silence as the rest of their group readied to leave indoors, and Connor supposed if there was any time to open up, now would be it.

“There is this girl,” he said quietly, folding his own arms about himself as he did so.

For a moment, Wilson said nothing in response, and then he clapped Connor hard on the shoulder.

“I thought so,” Wilson answered, keeping his own voice low as well.

Connor sighed, nodded, at a loss as to what else he could say.

“You like her?”

"She's a friend, I think."

"Nah, man," Wilson shook his head and lowered his voice. "Do you  _like_ her?"

Oh.

“I’m... not sure,” Connor answered. “But I feel different around her.”

“Do you wanna be near her?” Wilson asked.

Connor nodded.

“Wanna tell her about your day?”

Another nod.

“Does it do something all fluttery and messed up to your insides when she touches you? Or talks to you?” Wilson paused. “Can androids get fluttery insides?”

Connor thought to the synaptic misfires he experienced in his chest every time Chloe covered her smile with her fingertips. He thought to how strongly he reacted to even the simplest of details surrounding her. Even now, a singular image of her from this morning sprang to the forefront of his mind, and he felt as if he couldn't breathe. The blue of her eyes had been such a stark contrast to the heavy beige sweater she’d been wearing. Energy bloomed within him at the thought.

He nodded, feeling unbalanced and light.

Did Chloe ever feel that around him?

Had she felt it this morning, when she'd slid her hands about his shoulders and pulled him down to her level in a hug?

When she said goodbye?

“Yes. I mean, I think _I_ can, anyway,” Connor whispered. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of how quickly she'd fled, of how in retrospect he should have caught her and stopped her and asked her what was wrong-

Wilson whistled.

“That’s… oof."

"What?"

"Your face, Connor. You’re in it. You are in it now, buddy,” Wilson said, his tone soft and no longer teasing. "Damn."

Connor detected both pity and pride in the tone, two emotions that didn’t seem to be made to be mixed together. Before he could ask why, Chen and Juan burst from the house, their footfalls quick and their argument even quicker. Something about whether or not it was possible to die from drinking too much water.

Just as Connor was about to interject with facts pertaining to the argument, Hank managed to corral them all into the car together and send them off with one final door slam. He stood in the driveway waving goodbye, with Connor at his side, wishing he could have told Chen that her argument and reasoning were sound.

When the headlights faded down the street far enough, he let out a happy sigh. One he hadn't meant to let escape.

“There, now,” Hank said lightly. “How do you feel after all that?”

Connor blinked, running a quick check on himself.

His regulator was slow, smooth, steady.

He didn’t feel as if he was forgetting something, or overlooking an element, or running out of time to complete a task.

Stress levels minimal.

“Better, I think,” Connor answered.

He glanced over at Hank, at his consistent lack of shoes or jacket, and ushered the man inside. Once they got back through the door, Hank made his way to the kitchen as Sumo began to nuzzle Connor’s hands with his nose.

It was a sign the great big dog was ready for bed, and wanted someone to snuggle.

“Do you care if I stay the night tonight?” Connor asked him as he locked the door behind himself.

Hank shook his head and went for another iced tea.

“You know you don't have to ask. Couch is yours.”

“Can… can I put on a movie?”

Hank paused with the tea bottle halfway tilted to his mouth.

“Still feeling weird?”

Connor shrugged.

“I could probably stay awake for one movie,” Hank agreed. "Let's see what's on."

He gathered up the remainder of the chips from various bags and dumped them all into one bowl that he carried with him over to the recliner. Sumo followed him, snuffling up any crumbs that fell from the bowl in his wake, and then positioned himself up against Connor’s knees.

“Hank?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think that Chloe might ghost me?”

Hank choked out a laugh, but when he saw Connor was serious he sat up a bit straighter and shook his head.

“Connor. No. The strict definition of _ghosting_ is when they don’t tell you they won’t be around. She told you she'd be leaving, right? And said when she'd be back?”

Connor nodded.

“There you go,” Hank said, relaxing back into the recliner and shoving a few chips into his mouth. “Wait. Is that what tonight was about?"

Connor shrugged again, unsure of what to say.

The lieutenant chewed for a while, mostly like as he considered what he next had to say. After he swallowed, Hank sighed deeply.

"I know you're worried. And, admittedly, it's a bit sudden, but sometimes life is like that. Stuff comes up that you gotta take care of, and it can leave you feeling like shit for a while."

Connor folded his arms across his chest and sank deeper into the plush couch cushions behind him. None of this was making him feel better, and he got the impression that Hank could tell.

"Look. She has your number, right? She knows she can call you if something happens. Or am I wrong?"

"I hope she would," Connor replied.

"I know she would. Now watch the movie and don’t think so much. Worrying's only gonna give you the android equivalent of an ulcer. Rusted... whatever. Stress compressors or something.”

Connor snorted a laugh, which eased a bit of his anxiety. He let his hand drape down to fall against Sumo's soft forehead, and it was easy to focus on the action flick Hank finally found. The story was decent, the suspense predictably plotted but well-written nonetheless, and it did the trick to keep his mind deliberately from straying to imagined conversations, beige sweaters, and orange perfume.

When the movie ended, Connor noticed Hank was asleep in his recliner. The chip bowl was cradled like a baby in the curve of one of his arms, the guest blanket pulled up over his legs with only his toes sticking out.

"Hank?" he whispered.

Sumo lifted his head, then flopped back down again. Hank, however, didn't move an inch.

Quietly, Connor snuck over, grabbed the remote from where it rested by Hank’s other hand, and turned on another movie, adjusting the volume low so as not to wake the lieutenant.

This particular movie was one he’d seen on the guide earlier when Hank was flicking through the channels, but had been too embarrassed to ask to watch. Now that Hank was out cold, Connor seized the opportunity.

It was for research purposes, he thought to himself.

He did not choose it merely because the girl playing the lead was blonde, with elegant hands and an aesthetically pleasant smile. A smile that made Connor feel a bit ill, but beautifully so, like a wave of heat overwhelming the mind and causing momentary dizziness.

No, watching this romantic movie in particular was just research.

For Wilson, for when they got to chat about heartache again.

That was all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the officer Connor saves up on the rooftop in the first chapter is M. Wilson. The one who sits behind him didn't have a first name that I could find, so he is now Jeremy.  
> Everyone please be nice to Jeremy, he just wants to be loved ⊂(･ω･*⊂)
> 
> I actually struggled a bit with this one. There's not as much Chloe in it, not really, so I hope she still managed to exist here. If that makes sense?  
> Anyway, it's out in the world now, and I'm happy with it. Wonder where she went though?
> 
> Also no, it is not a dirty movie that Connor flicks to, but it sounds like it is doesn't it?? Ha! I actually wrote this with a Pride and Prejudice sort of thing in mind, so y'know, think Regency instead of R-rated <3


	7. Determination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mild warning in the end notes of this chapter-- for those who want to avoid spoilers but might have some sensitivities.

The first day without seeing Chloe was easier, since Connor had decided to stay with Hank for its duration. The lieutenant sang to himself as he made breakfast, and Connor took Sumo out to the backyard for a tug-of-war game. The day progressed easy and quick, and when it came time for Connor’s nightly routine at his apartment, he did it without much trace of discomfort.

What had Wilson called that specific discomfort again?

Heartache.

Being "in it", as it were.

Hank had called it melodrama.

Whatever it was, Connor survived a day of it on his own, and expected that it would right itself into a regular routine from there. Just as he'd gotten used to not having to report in to CyberLife, just as he'd gotten used to a lack of advice from Amanda and others like her, Connor was certain he could get used to not having Chloe smile at him regularly. She was not a part of his programming, and he put himself into a state of low power that night with confidence that he'd be better in the morning.

The second day proved a bit more difficult than anticipated.

He found himself attempting to chart a timeline for his impatience' sake. One day had gone by, but how many were left? Chloe had said a 'few’, which was indeterminate and vague. Rather than ponder it ad infinitum, he'd asked Wilson for clarification, seeing as he seemed the least likely person to ask Connor why he wanted to know.

After a morning of back and forth messages between himself and the officer, messages that were decidedly _not_ a good use of precinct facilities, Wilson managed to explain the verbage concisely and accurately to within a few constraints.

A ‘handful’ of days was closer to three, by his calculations, and a ‘couple’ meant two, possibly three. But a 'few'... that was the vaguest usage of all. Most likely, he’d not know how Chloe was for another day at the soonest, seeing as the least amount of time a 'few' might be was three. At the longest, a 'few' could be a metaphor for a week, which was a possibility that Connor didn't want to torture himself by considering. And then there was always that painful option, the one Wilson seemed remiss to remind him of: the option that Chloe had just disappeared for good.

When that was suggested, however, Connor brushed it off. He would consider that fatalistic idea when it seemed more plausible. For now, it was off the table.

Still, the idea that he wouldn't hear from her at least for another day felt... bad.

It shouldn't, because she didn't talk to him outside of a few phone calls during the week anyway. Their routine consisted of coffee shop smiles and some rare nighttime chats, only when Chloe took it upon herself to call him. When they were together, which was cumulatively not the majority of his day, she didn't divulge too much to him about herself. Connor felt like a rube, as if he was being tricked into feeling bad by his own mind.

Why did her absence affect him so strongly?

He theorized that it was because he didn't like not knowing the ins and outs of little situations such as this. There was obviously something Chloe hadn't felt comfortable sharing, and the thought that there was a secret he wasn't privy to absolutely clawed at Connor's investigative initiatives. On top of that, on a more personal note, Chloe could be in danger and he would never know, which irked him on a fundamental level. His design, his entire existence, was meant to prevent such occurrences from coming to fruition.

But there was no way to supersede what Chloe had set as the parameters. She was gone someplace outside of Detroit, for a 'few' days, and Connor had to trust her. There was little other option, seeing as the only number he had for her traced back directly to the apartment she said Everett and Salma lived in. The one she’d never let him see, and the one he’d never researched out of respect for her friends’ privacy.

On the third day, he was very close to violating that privacy.

From sunrise until around noon, Connor spent more time theorizing how he could get in touch with this so-called "Everett" and his associate "Salma" than he did focused on his work. He went back and forth as he flicked his coin between his hands, debating whether or not it would violate some unspoken bonds of trust to go behind Chloe's back and investigate her whereabouts. Was it truly sneaking around if he happened to acquire public knowledge on her friends?

By the time afternoon fell to dusk, he'd been going over and over potential scenarios in his mind to the point where it was difficult to distinguish what was reality anymore. He'd envisioned every possibility, preconstructed fake scenarios where he'd call upon his old partner and bust into the beautiful condo to gather evidence in order to save Chloe's life.

Truly, he needed to stop watching action movies when he was trying to destress. It seemed to have tainted a part of his programming, causing wild influxes of imaginative scenario constructs that were more hindering than helpful.

When Hank called him in to the precinct for a meeting, Connor had scarcely known what to say. His reaction was to ask if Hank was serious.

"Yes I'm serious, what kinda- nevermind. This is your chance for a break,” Hank had almost shouted into the receiver. “Now get here before Fowler changes his mind.”

Connor went, but not because of any ‘chance’ Hank seemed to think he’d had. He went to distance himself from the spiral of daydreams he found himself trapped in.

The precinct was real.

The imagined confrontation he wanted to have with "Everett" was not.

As he walked over to the station, he contemplated veering off course and strolling past the residential area, just to take a look around. The urge alone had him questioning whether his protocols for politeness and interaction weren't compromised somehow. Maybe they'd been overridden by the protocols that dictated he prioritize inspection. Connor knew that he was made to integrate easily with others, to be able to discern psychological attitudes and adjust accordingly, but he knew that he was also made to study and consider and act.

So how did those two personality traits mesh?

As he stepped up to the lobby of the Detroit Police Department, Connor had the sinking realization that maybe they didn't. Maybe that was why people did irrational things, why they were driven to do harmful things that made no sense. The things really _did_ make sense, when taking into account the layers of drives that sometimes conflicted within oneself.

Free will, to put it in Hank terms, was a bit of a bitch.

"Tin can," Detective Reed shouted across the lobby, and Connor flinched internally. Glancing up at Gavin, he was prepared for a jab to get thrown at him, but the detective merely rolled his eyes. "Get over here. You're late."

Rather than asking what he was late for, or why Reed was even involved, Connor merely obeyed him and followed him back to the briefing room.

He was glad he did.

And he was especially glad that Hank hadn't told him any details, because Connor wouldn't have believed the man anyway.

Turns out, the 'meeting' was a surprise, tentative HR affair in order to let Connor know that the DPD wanted to start implementing android forces once more. Now that amendments to the American Androids Act were being put into place, now that cleaner guidelines were available and more lawyers were on retainer, Connor might be able to have his old job back. He would be on a type of probation for a while yet, only able to help Hank from the sidelines with research on certain cases, but the good news was very clear.

Connor would be making his way back into the police force, starting this upcoming May.

Only a couple weeks from now.

The announcement brought with it a kind of calm, a peacefulness that Connor didn’t want to let go of. He was taken aback at the amount of officers that actually attended the announcement in the briefing room. The idea that people who he’d felt a connection to might actually feel one back with him... it was overwhelming. They had been trying to find a method to bring him back into the fold legally and surely so that he wouldn’t be cast aside again, and Captain Fowler even went so far as to apologize. Even though Connor caught Hank nodding at the man afterwards, as if the lieutenant had asked for the apology as a special favor, Connor felt the full force of the magnanimity regardless.

They had fought to get him back.

Even Detective Reed gave him a tight-lipped nod from the back of the room, although he didn't join in with the others' polite applause at the announcement.

It was almost unbelievable.

Connor tried to press down on the eager excitement that built within his core, but it was so difficult not to feel happy. When shaking hands with Captain Fowler, it was tough to keep his expression from oscillating back and forth from shocked to happy to shocked again. He kept reminding himself that it wasn’t happening officially yet, but he knew that it was going to be underway soon.

As people shook his hand, as Wilson smirked knowingly and Miller clapped him on the shoulder, Connor let it sink in further.

He had scarcely allowed himself to hope for this outcome, had dreaded whatever meeting Hank had insisted he come by for, and it looked as if his pessimistic view had been proven quite wrong.

Oh, it felt good to be wrong.

Once in the parking lot, with the indigo sky up ahead bursting with a warmth that signaled spring was right around the corner, Connor couldn’t contain himself any longer. He caught Hank before he could get in his car and awkwardly hugged the lieutenant to him in a rush.

“Thank you,” Connor said, his words muffled in Hank’s lapel.

The lieutenant didn’t protest. He held Connor back, squeezing him and jostling his shoulders when Connor held on just a bit too long. When they pulled away, Connor had to look up at the sky to hide the glimmer in his eyes that let on just how infinitely grateful he was.

“I didn’t know how much longer I was going to last doing paperwork,” he tried to joke, but the words came out more desperate than he'd meant for them to.

“I know,” Hank sniffed hard, then rolled his eyes. “They sure took their sweet fucking time about it, didn’t they? Damn. Six months of catch-up, that's what you're in for, you know.”

Connor laughed, too relieved and light in this moment to feel anything but peace. When Hank offered to give him a ride back to his apartment, he declined, preferring to walk out the positive energy.

That night, he dreamed of going back to the rescue shelter. But then the dream morphed, and instead of being in a building, Connor was surrounded by what he thought was spring.

In the dream, he was lying in the grass, and he thought for one heart-stopping moment that he was back in the zen garden. He sat up, his thirium pump racing, but as he looked around he noted that there was no telltale geometric white. The garden surrounding him was different in key ways, as well. He could hear a waterfall, for one, not a bubbling creek. He heard laughter and a dog barking, too, faraway down a path. And above him, the swaying shushed whispers of a willow that shifting the light across his eyelids in dappled blues and golds.

Breathing in, for a moment he thought he could smell the grass itself, a sensation that woke him almost immediately.

Even as the edges of such a vivid hallucination faded from his mind's eye, Connor woke up on the fourth day invigorated. He found he had a new sense of purpose, followed by a quiet embarrassment now that he had gotten some rest.

He could see that yesterday he'd been ridiculous, and a little too infatuated for his own comfort.

Of course Chloe was fine.

Of course he missed her, but that was the extent of it.

He was acting outside of the logic of his protocol, thinking irrationally, and it had accomplished nothing. And now he had to live with the fact that he'd unfairly cast mental suspicion on Chloe's friends, people he knew nothing about.

He was better than that.

With that thought in mind, he threw himself into the last of data entry he had to do at his apartment, looking forward to when he wouldn't have anymore paperwork to do for a good long while. When he finished with his stack of digital spreadsheets, Connor happily began to work on a critique for one of Jericho's most recent interview conferences. It took up his afternoon, along with two calls from the hotline that required him to look up information about two separate legal firms that could help with android rights advocacy work, pro bono. The puzzle solving nature of the work was minimal, but satisfying, and Connor managed to let time slip away from him without noticing its regular trudge.

When the sun set outside his apartment window, Connor breathed in the almost balmy air of oncoming spring and decided to reset his physical aptitude with a jog. His normal route around a few blocks nearby would be more than fine, he thought, and he ran until he felt at peak performance, taking in his surroundings as he did so.

The sway of the trees, still skeletal but prepped with buds along their boughs for warm weather to reappear. The sound of a dog barking nearby, something he tuned into particularly. It strayed too close for comfort to the memory of his dream from the previous night, and Connor got back to the apartment feeling both peaceful, yet busy. His fingers twitched even though he was in an excellent mood.

An image of Chloe smiling upon her return flashed in his mind's eye.

What would she say as a hello when he next saw her?

Would she hug him again?

Would she tell him where she'd been?

Connor felt a shiver run through him at the prospect of seeing her again, despite the warm breeze flowing past his hanging plants from the balcony window. He could see what the night had in store for him if he stayed here, and as pleasant as his daydreams about Chloe had been today, he still didn't want to be stuck spiraling in useless hallucinations all night.

Peace. He needed to hold onto his peace.

There were limited options at this hour. He could call Hank, but he knew that he was most likely at the rec center tonight. He could read, but his mind tended to wander when he chanced to look at a novel over the past few days. That left more physical activity. He could still make one of the night's yoga classes. Connor checked the time, confirming that it would be doable, and then left his apartment without a second though.

The gym was crowded, but not in a way that spiked his anxiety. It seemed as if everything was aligning today to provide him with positivity, something that added a strange layer of hyper-awareness to Connor's thoughts. He took his time folding his work clothes in order to change over, deliberate and careful, taking pride in the minutiae. Even though he didn't sweat, Connor found that dressing to fit the occasion not only made humans more amenable to him joining in their activities, but it also helped with the flexibility required by certain poses. Pulling a long-sleeved synthetic shirt across his torso, Connor laced up his grey sweatpants and exited the gym's locker room to join the group.

It was exactly what he needed. It was enough of a challenge to be physically satisfying, while allowing for him to meditate at the same time as accomplishing a task. The best of honing his cerebral processing as well as his physical components. Stretching, balancing, and breathing, Connor managed to clear his mind just as a noiseless chime rang out within himself.

An incoming call.

At first, he thought to ignore it, thinking it was merely a transfer from his home line that he would get to in a moment, but then he registered that it was being made to his personal number and his elbows went to jelly.

Was Jericho calling tonight?

He thought they weren’t scheduled to chat until tomorrow, at the earliest.

But maybe he’d lost track of time. Maybe he needed to take this.

Barely catching himself before his nose hit the mat, Connor straightened up into a seated position and caught the instructor’s attention. He motioned to his temple, mouthed _I'll be right back_ , and left for the safety and semi-privacy of the gym lobby.

“This is Connor,” he said by way of greeting as soon as he clicked down within his cognition.

An inhaled breath, and then a sob.

He analyzed the source of the call, found it was a number he didn’t know, but they were calling from within the area. It wasn’t Jericho, he knew that much, and it wasn’t a rerouting from the line he offered to strangers. It was someone with his number, and that-

He felt his thirium pump beat out an extra hard clap within himself as realization struck.

“Chloe?”

Another noise, a squeak, and then a muffled word.

“Yeah. It’s me.”

She was crying, and shivering. He could hear her teeth chatter.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, already stepping out to the locker room in order to gather his things and leave. “Are you alright? Are you back?”

“Connor,” she said thickly, past tears and something else. “I need… I need your help.”

“Stay where you are,” Connor ordered quietly as he put on his shoes. “I’m going to try and determine your location, then I’m going to come get you.”

“I’m not sure where… I don’t know where I am,” she whispered, sounding as if she was covering her mouth to try to slow how quick her breathing had become.

"Are you back in Detroit?"

"Yes. I was in the neighborhood, but now-"

She took a shuddering breath in what seemed to be an effort to control herself.

“Tell me something you see,” Connor directed, trying to connect the GPS from his own modified tracker to the one Chloe may or may not have still had functional within her processors. It was fuzzy, only a general location, nothing pinpointed. “Like a building. A street sign. Anything you can see.”

“I see…” she inhaled slowly, a valiant effort, and let it out in one big exhale. “It’s an old CyberLife store front, maybe? And I see a… a glowing sign. I think it says Eder Club, I think?”

Connor froze.

“Is it pink neon letters?”

“Yeah,” she sniffled, and he could hear her moving. “There are a few people outside of it. I can’t tell if they’re human or not. But I can’t go over, not like-”

She devolved into a silent sob once more, voiceless and heartbreaking. Connor rushed out the door, his jacket barely on. He’d left his duffel in the locker room and his mat out in class, but it hardly mattered.

“You don’t have to go over, Chloe,” Connor said, trying to soothe her. "You can stay where you are and wait for me."

Say her name.

Make her feel listened to.

He shook his head, grimacing at his own instincts. This wasn’t some criminal he was trying to talk out of doing anything irrational, this was Chloe. His friend. She’d hugged him, asked him to trust her-

And look where that had gotten him.

She was shaken, possibly in pain, and he’d not even checked in on her. Now she was alone, wherever she was. Outside of the Eden Club? That was all the way across town! Even as Connor hailed a cab and told them to hurry, he cursed himself for ever letting her go without pressing.

And that just brought guilt.

Chloe wasn’t his ward or his responsibility.

She was a person.

Alive, and in charge of her own life.

But then why,  _why_ did he feel so gut-wrenchingly bad receiving a phone call such as this?

As if he could have prevented it somehow, as if he felt robbed of the chance to try?

“Connor?”

“I’m here,” he said, quelling the conflict within himself. “I’m on my way. Are you safe?”

“I think so,” she whispered. “I’m not… I feel like an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Connor said immediately. “Are you okay to talk? Do you need to stay quiet?”

“I’m okay to talk, it’s not like I’m not hiding,” she scoffed, but he got the sense that it was more at herself and not at him. “Not anymore, anyway,” she added.

He didn’t know what she meant, but in the moment he knew it didn’t matter.

Logging the detail away for later conversations to come, he focused on her state of mind instead.

“You sound upset. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I... I don’t know,” she evaded.

He could tell from her pitch that her stress levels elevated at the question, and he sought a different route as the cab drove on.

“When did you get back?”

“Um,” she forced herself to inhale and slow down. “Just this afternoon. Around two... maybe three hours ago? I don't... what time is it?”

“It's not that late. Focus on my voice," Connor said, attempting to reassure her with another question she could answer. "How did you get back?”

“Elijah drove me.”

Connor felt a flare within himself. Something cold and hot at once, a conflicting and bitter sensation that seemed to corrode within his core biocomponents. It seemed to isolated within his chest, and then without warning it seeped into his limbs, leaving him breathless and weak and upset.

“Is he with you now?” Connor managed to ask, logic overriding and sparing his mind from the spiral it was on.

Analytical.

That was what this situation called for, impartial analysis.

Chloe laughed, and then mumbled something to herself that Connor couldn’t quite catch. He wondered if her scarf was pulled up about her face, or if she was even forming words or just muttering.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said no,” Chloe stated, and for a moment her firmness was back.

Connor felt himself grit his teeth at what felt strangely like a rebuke.

But then she shuddered again, and her voice came back thick once more, as if she had something in her mouth she was trying to talk around.

“Connor, I don’t feel so good,” she whispered.

“Run a diagnostic,” Connor suggested.

Suggested.

It was an order, and he hated himself for giving it, but she complied. He heard her exhale as she did so, as if she was flinching from the effort. When she let out a breath, he could already tell it wasn’t good.

“Damage to my regulator, but it's not extreme, it feels like it's ajar. I might be able to readjust it myself. It’s throwing my internal temperature regulation off, so I feel cold. My right hand… needs repairs,” she said, sniffling hard. “I’m leaking blue-blood all over my scarf. I can’t tell if it’s stopping or just really slow.”

“Okay. Nothing fatal?”

“No,” she whispered.

Her tone fell flat, and he didn’t know how to reply.

“That’s fine. You did well,” Connor stated, fear lacing itself like acid through his every nerve. He leaned up to the driver and held two fingers to his temple to mute the call momentarily from his end. “This is an emergency, I need you to go faster.”

“Look pal, there’s speed limits for a reason, and-”

“I’m with the Detroit Police Department, just go. Faster. Please,” Connor ordered.

When the driver glanced into the rearview and caught his eye, Connor had to look away. He knew how he looked, brow furrowed and teeth clenched. The driver sped up, passing cars now.

“Connor?”

He pulled his fingers away from his temple, his voice softening as Detroit sped by outside the taxi window.

“I’m still here,” he said, his voice a low promise. “Just keep talking.”

 

* * *

 

The blue and pink neon lights of the Eden Club came into view, and Connor didn’t bother muting this time when he shouted at the driver.

“Pull over, wait here, I'll be right back!”

The man complied, obviously shaken at Connor’s insistence, and he had barely stopped the taxi before Connor opened the door and leapt out into the melting slush on the sidewalk. He scanned for signs of Chloe before shouting out her name and drawing too much attention, lest her assailant still be nearby.

If there was an assailant.

He still didn’t know anything about what had happened, couldn’t ask it of her when she already was having trouble speaking. He needed to wait and not assume that the ink was only black or red before he’d had a chance to fully analyze each drop.

She’d reached out to him, though.

When something happened, she called him.

In a way, that somehow felt like enough to focus on.

Chloe needed him.

Screw the details.

Connor looked over across the street and saw the CyberLife storefront, grayed out and closed, that Chloe had initially mentioned. Turning backwards from there, he managed to locate a bench with full view of the Eden Club entrance. Sitting there, holding her arms about herself as if she was trying to make herself small, was Chloe.

Connor wasted no time in talking. Glancing to make sure it was clear, he jogged across the street and knelt immediately in front of her. He ran an assessment of his own as she reached for him, scanning her instantly before their bodies connected.

Her hair was down. It was never down, it was always braided back or pulled with pins. Never loose about her face.

In order to get a clear view, Connor reached up and tucked her hair back and out of the way. He kept his fingers at her cheek, holding her face in place, the contact of skin against synthetic skin a negligible familiarity. He didn't probe, didn't retract the fluid, and Chloe sighed at the touch. Her eyes fluttered closed, and he couldn't tell if it was a flinch or an expression of relief.

He scanned over her features in an instant.

Thirium, leaking, just as she said, from one nostril. The cause was what looked to be a particularly nasty bruise on the bridge of her nose. From a blow of some kind, not enough to scar her; from a fist perhaps? There was no permanent structural damage that he could spot, but a vessel in her sinuses could have popped and might require cauterizing if the leak didn’t stop on its own.

Her right hand was held close to her chest, cradled really, with some of the knuckles bent at a uncomfortable-looking angles. Her wrist seemed to be swollen, as if it had fractured. It looked as if she’d tried to brace herself from a sharp fall and popped a few of her fingers out from their sockets on the impact, or had fend off a blow from a large object. Either falling from a great height or a great speed would do it, unless she’d been hit with something flat and broad.

More likely she’d fallen, statistically speaking.

She was grimacing, making a face as if the weather was affecting her adversely. She had said she was cold, hadn't she? Her regulator seemed to be running slowly, but he would have to check it later to be sure. That would explain the feeling of chills she was having. A knock could do that, if she fell suddenly, and would fall in line with her other injuries. If she’d braced on her hand, broken that, then she could have bounced a second time on her side or her back and thrown something internal off its rhythm.

She was crying, but it wasn’t from pain. Some sort of trauma, then? Or out of shock?

It must have been an attack, he couldn’t imagine her crying from an accident she caused herself. This had to have been outside of her control.

Lastly, overtop of the details of her injuries, Chloe still wore the orange blossom spiced perfume, the one that still clung in some places to the lapel of his jacket hanging at home. This tiny thing reminded him that this was _her_ , not just some witness to a crime, but Chloe. Somehow more important.

A protective instinct reared its head within him, the same instinct that had felt like instability all those times before.

It was what broke Connor of his detailed fixation, what helped him focus on the moment as Chloe collapsed against him in a one-armed embrace. Her uninjured hand made its way around his shoulders, and Connor slid his palm behind her back underneath of her arm. She hugged him to herself, trembling, breathing a sigh of unmistakable gratitude, and Connor closed his eyes to hug her briefly back. His cheek against her temple, her lips against his neck, Chloe made a noise that was almost like a laugh of disbelief.

“You came.”

“Of course I did,” he said gently. “You said you needed me.”

Chloe took in a ragged breath, and attempted to swipe away the blood dribbling down from her left nostril. She pulled a face, one of exasperation and sadness, and then used her scarf to clean the thirium from her knuckles.

“The taxi is right over there,” Connor said, his way of asking permission. “I’m getting you out of here. Do you think you can walk over to it?”

She nodded and they stood together as one. Chloe lifted herself up onto her feet as Connor supported her waist, and he found that she could move without issue. She was shivering, but her footing was stable beneath her and she didn’t sway. Connor had had more of a time trying to get the lieutenant to sober up than he did trying to get Chloe over to the car.

Chloe sighed against him, her breathing still uneven and echoing in his head from where he hadn’t even hung up the call, and Connor felt concern strike through his sensors at the noise.

When he glanced down at her, however, she wasn’t faltering. She hiccuped from the sobs that had wracked her body earlier, but seemed definitively calmer now. Her hand clutched at the shoulder of his jacket, and he responded by keeping a firm grip on her waist.

“I’ve got you,” he said, something he couldn’t explain his reasoning for.

Once they'd crossed the street, he tucked her into the taxi and glanced over when the driver made a noise of concern.

“Hey miss. You okay?”

“Fine,” Chloe said thickly, pulling her scarf up to cover her nose. "Just a nosebleed."

“You sure?”

The driver put an arm over the passenger's side chair to see her better, then sighed in what Connor perceived as agitation. He readied himself for a fight, his hand at Chloe's knee should he need to scoop her out of the car and get her to safety before the man drove off.

But then the driver shook his head and turned back to face the front.

“There’s been some assholes roughing up people here lately. It ain't right, and it ain't fair. We can report them y’know, if that’s what happened to you.”

People.

Meaning androids?

The phrasing gave Connor pause.

“Thank you,” Chloe answered, sounding as if she was truly obliged. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, so you said,” the driver replied softly.

His tone was calm and comforting, and Connor felt a twinge of appreciation for his concern.

As she buckled into her seat, Chloe adjusted in order to keep close to Connor’s side. Her hand found his knee and lay there, unimposing, more so like she wanted to keep him from abandoning her than anything else.

Rather than question it, Connor kept one arm cradled protectively about her shoulders and addressed the driver.

“Take us to the hospital.”

Before the driver had a chance to confirm, he was interrupted.

“No!” Chloe whispered vehemently. She pushed back from his arms. “Not there!”

“Why not?” Connor asked, aghast. “You’re injured and you need to be repaired. They have a ward for androids where CyberLife has donated components and-”

“Please. Connor, please. Not the hospital.”

Chloe said nothing more, but when she blinked, her blue eyes sent tears cascading anew down across her reddened cheeks. Connor watched, astonished that he could feel so many layers of feelings at once.

He examined his options.

His highest priorities were to protect Chloe if he could, and seeing her in distress overrode most of the rest of his emotions. He didn’t want her to suffer, or be frightened, and he would do whatever he could to ensure she was safe. If she didn’t want to go to the hospital, they wouldn’t go.

But he also wanted to ask her to tell him everything, and there was undeniable intuition hinting to him that she was hiding some key information. Connor couldn’t make a logical assessment of what to do next because he didn’t have the full picture. The idea that she was asking him to made him increasingly uncomfortable.

And beneath that, deeper still, there lay a sense of hurt. It felt petty and inane and real in a way that made Connor want to cut it out of himself.

A hurt that questioned why she’d seen Elijah.

A hurt that wondered if that man had done this to her.

How could her own creator do such a thing?

Connor closed his eyes in an attempt to erase assumptions from his theorizing. There was no logical reason why Elijah should be a suspect in this, no clear evidence that he could gather without asking Chloe to dig deeper into the uncomfortable subject. When his mind was clear, when he could think of what he needed to get done in order of highest priority, he opened his eyes and level Chloe with a calm stare.

“If you don’t want to go to the hospital,” he said with difficulty, keeping his voice low so that the driver didn’t have to be involved, “then we won’t go.”

Chloe looked up at him through tear-flecked lashes, the thirium dripping blue across her top lip and onto the beige knit of her scarf. Swallowing past whatever wave of emotion she was feeling, she took in a breath.

“Thank you.”

“Should I take you back to Everett?”

Her eyes registered panic, and Connor backpeddled immediately.

“Or not. Not there, alright."

His mind awhirl, his options waning, Connor gave an exasperated little breath.

"You can stay at my place," he offered, the statement more of a question. "It's small, but you're welcome to it as long as you need.”

Chloe grit her teeth, like she was considering the pros and cons to such an arrangement, then sniffled thickly once more. With as much dignity as she could muster with a bloody nose and tear-streaked cheeks, she straightened her shoulders and nodded.

"Only if it's not a burden to have me."

"It's not. _You're_ not," Connor said firmly, and before she had a chance to protest further he very gently tightened the arm he had about her shoulders. As the taxi pulled away, Chloe leaned against his side, her head tumbling softly to rest on his shoulder as the night shifted past them in a blur of lights and sounds. Her uninjured hand stayed on his knee, her thumb drawing a circle along the edge of his thigh, and Connor counted the street signs until they pulled up in front of the complex he called home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing out nighttime crisis phone calls always kind of bothers me, so I'm adding a note here about it for anyone who needs it: Chloe's in trouble, and she calls Connor in a panic, and it's Not Good. She's been roughed up somehow, but the causes are undetermined. The fic's rated M for a reason, so make sure you take care of you!
> 
> Realtalk though, the Eden Club's font is difficult to read from far away (❀｣╹□╹)｣*･ ... y'all ever noticed that? Hmm? You will now and you're welcome.
> 
> We'll get right into the meat of it with the next chapter, kiddos. I've had a couple of you ask for a Chloe portion, and after I post the next chapter and show you the reaction from Connor's end, I'm going to work on a sidebar fic that's from our girl's POV. So stay tuned and stay warm (because autumn) and we'll hopefully get some closure soon ＼（Ｔ∇Ｔ）／


	8. Accommodation

As soon as they got back into his apartment, Connor gestured over to the couch.

“Please make yourself comfortable. I don’t have a bed, as such,” he said by way of apology. “It’s a small enough apartment as it is, and I-”

“It’s lovely,” she interrupted him. “Just the right amount of space for one person.”

He felt himself swallow back the words he’d had readied, and as she smiled he watched her touch her fingertips to her nose with a wince.

“Oh," he grimaced. "Here. Let me.”

Connor went to the sink to grab a dish towel.

He had a few amenities, mainly furnished in his home so that when Hank came over he could feel welcome. There were two sets of everything one could eat off of, minimal and small, and he found himself grateful that Hank had insisted this place ‘be more than a damn closet’.

Although this probably wasn’t what the lieutenant had intended for the housewarming set of towels he’d bought. He wet one end, wrung out the excess, and then moved back to the couch.

“Hold this to your nose,” Connor said, not bothering to sit down. “See if it helps the tissue coagulate and repair itself. If not, I have an emergency kit here somewhere.”

He began to gather supplies as Chloe sat rigidly polite in the center of the couch, holding the towel to her face.

First, he took a bag of thirium from his emergency cache in the cupboard and put it in one of his mugs to heat to slightly above standard core temperature. If her thermal configuration was off, she would need to be warmed from the inside. Therefore the drink would replenish any thirium she’d lost as well as help her to feel more comfortable, however temporarily.

Once the cup was heated, Connor collected the emergency kit that contained a miniature cauterizing tool and some standard pliers and adjustment wrenches, so that he could see about tending to her fractured digits. Should she have any cuts or scrapes that weren’t mended with a quick synthetic bypass, the cauterizing tool would help stem the bleeding of such minor wounds.

Maybe she was right. Maybe a hospital was unnecessary.

As he was passing by the closet by the entryway with the kit, Connor also gathered up the blankets as a side thought. They were the ones Hank had gotten at the flea market and had Connor wash several times over before using. As Connor got them out to set down beside Chloe, he thought back fondly to how adamant Hank had been at the time of the purchase.

“A home’s gotta have blankets, Connor. It’s just more inviting that way.”

Funny.

He felt an intense gratitude towards the lieutenant in this moment, for a multitude of reasons, even though his focus should still be on the steps to repair Chloe.

But his brain seemed averse to the subject. When he thought too hard about the task at hand, about Chloe’s situation, it threatened to overwhelm him. He found that his mind was having some sort of imbalanced reaction to that. Instead of wondering who had hurt Chloe and glowering over it, he reasoned that being distracted would actively help him cater better to her needs, rather than interrogate her about the situation.

The microwave dinged.

When he came to sit beside her on the couch with the hot cup of thirium, he gave Chloe a look of sympathy.

“Still cold?”

She gave a shiver in answer, and Connor had to bite back a smile at her timing.

“Here’s something to warm you,” he said, offering her the cup with one hand. With the other, he set the folded blankets by her thigh.

She moved to take the cup from him, but as soon as she dropped the cloth from her nostril, blue blood trickled out once more over her lip. She let out a squeak and pressed the towel back to her face, and he caught the cup of hot liquid before she could accidentally dump it across both of their laps.

Chloe let out a groan.

“I’m sorry. I think I got some on your couch.”

“There’s no need for apologies,” he said. “I didn’t even notice.”

She made a face at him overtop of the towel, one that was a cross between looking charmed and feigning anger, and for a moment Connor forgot she was injured.

He was just so irrationally happy to see her.

Especially when she looked at him like that, up through her lashes.

Sparks ran tingling from his abdomen up into his throat, then back down again, a pleasurable misfire that he scarcely knew how to ignore, and the newness of it brought him back to himself. He cleared his throat and wondered if she could tell.

“Here,” he said, disentangling his hand carefully from hers in order to set the cup onto the coffee table.

He gently positioned Chloe so that she was turned towards him on the couch and then moved an inch or so closer to her as well. He pushed his sleeves up so that his forearms were bare, the fabric out of the way of any thirium that might splash, and with a sigh he realized he’d never changed over from his workout clothes.

It couldn’t be helped, but he felt a nagging sensation of unpreparedness twist at the edge of his mind. With one finger hooked in his collar, he adjusted his shirt away from his throat in an attempt to ease that particular brand of anxiety.

He had to focus.

Connor brought the emergency kit and the cauterizing tool into his lap, and he ignored the way that Chloe was watching him intently the whole entire time. It was as if she was trying to guess what he was going to do before he did it. Her eyes looked bright rather than clouded by tears,at least, which was a fair trade for how nervous he felt under her scrutiny.

He liked when she was curious so much better than when she was upset.

“Let’s take care of the bleeding, so you can breathe easier,” he murmured, sifting through the kit to find a small flashlight. “Tilt your head back for me.”

Chloe did as he asked, but didn’t drop the towel.

With a small, hopefully reassuring smile, Connor reached up and placed his fingertips across hers. Slowly he drew her hand downward. She flinched when a trickle of thirium slid down her lips, tried to bring her hand up, but he kept his fingers overtop of hers and in place.

Her mouth fell open so that she could inhale.

Fascinating.

These reactions, these innate responses, were unnecessary. Androids, most models anyway, could function without the use of their respiratory system for double the time most humans could before any biocomponents began to suffer for it. At least double. That was a conservative estimate by his calculations. It was a secondary impulse, not a necessary one, to inhale and exhale.

But Chloe reacted as a human would. With her nostril obstructed, her immediate reaction was to breathe from her mouth, even though she could feasibly stop breathing altogether and save herself the trouble.

She even darted her tongue out to catch the dripping thirium on its tip before she seemed to remember Connor was watching her. Their gazes connected and her skin flushed pink, another interesting reaction. Without saying anything, she closed her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut.

Was it inappropriate to tell her he’d missed her?

He blinked, quickly coming back to himself.

He couldn’t say that.

Not the best timing.

His ability to scan so instantly made it so that not much time had passed, and yet his last thought nestled a seed of guilt within his otherwise focused demeanor.

He could dwell on that later. Or maybe apologize for it later. He couldn’t tell which was necessary.

Determined to _finally_  fix the problem at hand, Connor clicked on the flashlight and tried to find the wound in Chloe’s sinus cavity that was causing the bleeding.

It was small, not too far past her airway, but the gash was still trickling thirium down her throat as he watched. It looked as if the bridge of her nose had cracked, the metal and plastic tissue opening to reveal the fluid beneath, a minor thing in response to whatever blow she’d suffered.

She made a noise, a tiny swallow, and Connor dropped his hand from hers. Working deft and fast, he clicked on the miniature cauterizing tool and transferred his flashlight to his mouth so that he could use his other hand to press on the tip of her nose.

She laughed.

It was a choked noise, undignified as she tried to hide it, but her smile gave her away.

“What?” Connor asked past the tube of metal between his teeth.

“Nothing,” she whispered, barely managing to conceal her smirk as she threw her gaze back up to the ceiling.

“Oh? I thought for a minute you were choking.”

“Mmm. Just a little distracted. Won’t happen again.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, playing as if he didn’t realize what a ridiculous picture they painted together, and pressed the tip of her nose upwards to open her airway more fully. With a deliberate, very cautious swipe, he touched the tip of the cauterizing tool to the inside of her sinus cavity, closing the split in her tissue and effectively stopping the blood flow.

When he pulled away, he grabbed up the towel before she could and began to clean around her nose and lips. She didn’t protest, merely watched Connor’s eyes with what looked to be amusement. He endeavored to be gentle, trying his best to get rid of the evidence of whatever had happened to her with swift, methodical swipes.

“Is everything alright?” she whispered, sputtering a bit as the towel caught on her lower lip.

Connor’s fingers tightened about the cloth momentarily.

“I’ve staunched the blood flow, if that’s what you mean.”

He avoided her gaze, and instead focused on using the moist corner of the rag to wipe away the last traces of her blood.

A pressure. There was pressure on the center of his chest, just above his pump, heady and murky and pleasurable. Rather than question it, Connor allowed it to dictate his instinct, and he dropped the towel from her mouth. With his thumb lingering for just a moment on the corner of her lip, Connor could feel his body lean forward an inch.

“Tell me if anything feels strange,” he murmured, his thumb staying in place.

What was he doing?

And why did it feel so natural?

It felt like a scene from a movie, he'd seen this somewhere, he must have-

“Oh, I think you're fine,” she whispered, and he felt her lips move against the pad of his fingertip.

Fluttery.

A jolt of something new, right inside of his sternum, caused Connor to glance up and meet Chloe’s gaze. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it was a shocking sensation, and indiscernibly complex. Something warm, but difficult to process, something that felt overwhelming, and he needed to know if it was just him malfunctioning or if she felt it too.

Her eyes were so open, looking up at him in quiet acceptance, awaiting her fate.

Just as she’d looked at him when she’d knelt on the carpet at Kamski’s and awaited her fate.

Suddenly, the air between them was too warm, too constrictive. The pleasant feeling from before was replaced with tar-like guilt, grappling at his core.

He had to get some distance.

Connor cleared his throat and dropped the rag, along with his gaze and his hand, down to where her wrist lay.

“Now then,” he said, a bit louder than he’d intended to, “let’s see about your injury while you drink up.”

She obeyed him, letting her right hand fall against his knee as she reached for the cup of warmed blue liquid. Glancing down at it before her lips touched the porcelain rim, she twisted her lips in a little wince.

“You… just have blue-blood lying about in your house, do you?”

“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. “Sometimes the people who seek my help need thirium replenished before I can get them to a clinic.”

“So you-”

Chloe flinched hard at the pressure he applied to her wrist in order to pop it out of place and realign it correctly past the fracture. Connor watched her registering the procedure and made a face of his own. When she didn’t finish her train of thought, Connor narrowed his eyes and tilted his head a bit lower in order to try to catch her gaze once more.

“Androids can’t feel pain,” he said quietly.

Her mouth tightened into a firm, disapproving pout.

“I know that.”

“Your reaction would lead me to believe otherwise.”

Chloe’s brow knit together and she took a long drink from the cup before speaking. Licking the blue away from her lips, she kept her eyes downcast.

“I come with an altered self-preservation code. My responses to what can be considered painful are meant to replicate a human’s,” she said quietly. “I have several other modifications along this vein. After market, I suppose you could call them.”

“Such as?”

She didn’t answer, and Connor leaned forward to try to show her that he was being sincere.

As she set her jaw, Chloe looked up and met his eyes with an almost defiant little stare.

He couldn't keep from smiling at that. Even though it was a minute expression, she seemed to have caught it, and Connor watched her visibly relax.

“I’m not interrogating you, Chloe,” he said, his voice honest. “If this topic is off limits, I can change to a more suitable subject."

"Such as?" she muttered.

"I have a repertoire of stories about Sumo that you've yet to experience."

She scoffed.

"Really! Pick a topic. I can probably tell you something that dog has done related to anything you can think of."

Chloe finally giggled, and Connor smiled along with her. Reaching out to cover her fingers in what he hoped was a gesture of confidence, he noticed she looked up at him more directly now.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She searched his gaze, as if trying to discern if what he said was true, if he really wasn’t demanding anything of her. Something within her seemed to break; her shoulders slumped down, exhausted, and she closed her eyes for the span of a few heartbeats.

“I have a… rudimentary form of sensory perception,” Chloe whispered.

Her tone conveyed shame.

Perhaps at having kept it a secret?

Or, and this was a thought that made Connor feel ill- maybe she was ashamed of the programming itself.

“I think the code was an experiment, of sorts,” she continued, her voice flat. “Elijah wanted to see how I could interpret the world when given a taste of it, he said. It was something CyberLife didn’t allow in their standard ST200 models. But something he could do to… through me.”

“So you can smell perfume as a human would?” Connor asked.

She glanced up, almost like she was entertained by his fixation on that detail.

“Yes. I don’t have the capacity to analyze it for its components the way you do.”

Connor felt her fingers tighten gently on his.

“But... I can feel nice things through touch. Like sweaters. And holdings hands,” she continued, her voice in a whisper.

He felt his lips part at that detail, but no words came in his surprise. Was it on purpose that he felt her hand clutch a bit tighter overtop of his?

She carried on before he could ask.

“And I think I like music. I haven’t quite figured that out yet. Auditory perception is… strange. I think it's affected by my mood, from what I can tell.”

“You have altered aptitudes for sound, scent, and touch,” he listed, unsure of why he was leaning forward. “What about taste?” 

Her lashes fell to her cheeks as she smiled, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid that’s where you have me beat, detective.”

Instinct, unthinking and unwarranted, had him flick his eyes down to where her lips normally held slick, peach-colored shimmer.

Even without the makeup, they still looked…

“Connor?”

Her voice was a purr, a comforting lull, and Connor could feel a breath escape him at her words.

“You are so unique,” he whispered, and then brought his eyes back to hers.

Her expression, for just a moment, was open instability. Her lips fell open and her brow twitched as she leaned forward, and Connor marveled at how close the two of them still were. He wondered through some inhibition of logic what she wanted of him. All she had to do was ask, and he felt compelled to give it to her.

But something stopped Chloe before she got the chance. Something internal that she didn't share with him.

“Thank you,” she said. She blinked quickly, then added, “I’m sure that a palate and sense of taste would have been another experiment Elijah would have worked on, had I stayed at the villa.”

At his name, it was as if a spell broke between them.

Connor remembered himself and his priorities, and forced himself to relax his jaw as he inched a bit backwards from her. Chloe, too, seemed to be suddenly self-conscious and unsure, her eyes blinking rapidly as she stared down at where their hands still lay touching in Connor’s lap.

“Give me just a minute, and I’m sure I can repair your hand,” Connor said, and the abrupt shift in conversation was lost on neither of them. “But when it comes to your regulator, I might need your permission to run a diagnostic on you myself. Just to pinpoint exactly what the problem is.”

“But-”

“It's non-invasive,” he explained. She seemed uncomfortable, still, and so he shrugged. “Or we can go to the clinic and have someone there do it. Those are our options for fixing it.”

Chloe sighed exasperatedly, and gave off an air of someone who felt cornered.

Shifty eyes, calculating twist of the mouth. She exuded all of the signs of someone who was searching for an out.

But she gave up even as Connor stared, and she brought the cup of thirium back to her lips to sip at in acquiescence.

“Only a diagnostic?” she asked when she’d set the cup down a second time.

“Of course,” he answered.

He frowned, assessing her distress and tracing it backwards to the closest approximation of what would make her react in such a manner.

The way she kept from retracting her fluid when they touched.

The way he could feel her focusing on blocking him out.

And her sudden mistrust now.

“You don’t think... you don't think I’d probe your memory without your permission, do you?” Connor asked, and even though he tried to keep the hurt from his tone, he could hear it creep in at the end.

Chloe glanced up, looking as if she wanted to deny it, but with a twist of her mouth she merely shrugged.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Connor stated firmly.

“Connor-”

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asked.

She sat there, silent, trembling, and he tried to sound reassuring.

“That’s not an ultimatum. It’s just a question,” Connor murmured. "My feelings towards you won't change based off of your answer."

Chloe looked slightly panicked, but Connor didn't have anything else left to say. He began to work on her hand once more, gathering together the tools necessary to unscrew her ligaments should they prove to be twisted. If they were snapped, she might have to go to a clinic regardless-

“Would you say we’re friends, then?”

Connor felt his brow quirk, a smile at the edge of his lips as he immediately looked back up at her.

Was she joking?

When he didn't answer immediately, Chloe folded into nervous speech, her words spilling forth in a flow Connor struggled to keep up with.

“I mean, we’ve been spending a lot of time around one another. Not as much as I would like, and that’s probably my fault, I realize that. But I wanted to fix that, to try to be better, to be more available! Before all of this, before... everything...”

Chloe inhaled deeply to gather her thoughts, and for some reason, the only image Connor’s mind could summon was one of Sumo.

Of all things, it seemed to be the most nonsensical thing to remember at a time like this.

But the way Chloe was holding both of her hands with her knuckles curled on his leg reminded him of how Sumo would put his heavy paws on his lap to get Connor to snuggle with him. He would whine, then if Connor stayed quiet long enough he would bark, until Connor folded and gave him what he wanted. Until Connor folded and enveloped the gigantic fluffy beast in the tightest of cuddles.

Chloe made a noise, as if she was laughing at herself, and then more words came tumbling out.

“I know it’s a weird question to ask when I haven't been a very good friend to _you_ ," Chloe said under her breath. "I know there’s a lot I need to tell you. But even so, you’ve been so nice to me, and hearing what you’ve done for our people makes me want to do more, too, and being around you feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and I just… I just…”

Chloe looked up at him in exasperation, having seemingly run into an endless feedback loop she couldn’t get herself out of. Rather than attempting, she let out a little, irritated scoff and made as if she was going to turn away from him.

Connor moved before she could leave, impulsively bringing his hand up to gently cup one of her cheeks in his palm.

He hated himself in that moment.

The touch reminded him so much of Kamski, of the way he'd had Chloe kneel, that Connor almost took back the gesture.

But then, another thought, breaking through the brittle jealousy he felt at the thought of Chloe's creator cradling her.

He wasn't Kamski.

And she had called him.

In a light caress, Connor traced his fingers through Chloe’s blond tresses and pulled them back over one of her ears. When her only response was to sigh shakily, but not pull away, he repeated the gesture a second time.

Her hair was soft and heavy all at once, something new and pleasant running across his fingers. Connor smiled to himself, thinking absurdly back to Sumo and how he probably shouldn’t tell Chloe this gesture was inspired by a dog. He didn't think she'd mind, because she seemed to be preoccupied anyway. She leaned into his touch, one of her hands coming to rest on his thigh as she leaned forward towards him.

Connor knew something about having too many thoughts spiraling all at once into a funnel of endless nerves. He knew how it felt when all solutions seemed out of reach, when there were tangles upon tangles of energies within his processors and he felt as if he was going to be overwhelmed by the noise. And when it all became too much, when he came close to breaking, he knew that soft touch seemed to soothe a place within himself he hadn't yet put a definition to.

It was why he kissed Sumo's forehead so reverently when he was feeling low, why the rescue shelter was his safest, calmest memory to revisit.

If he could give Chloe half that peace now, in this moment, it would be worth it.

When his palm brushed against her forehead with the third pet, he registered that her temperature was drastically low as she shivered hard once more.

"You still feel cold to the touch," Connor said, not even attempting to disguise the concern he felt for her from his voice.

Chloe closed her eyes momentarily. She brought her hand up to hold his fingers to the side of her face, pressing his palm against her cheek, and leaned further towards him.

"Luckily for me, you're nice and warm," she whispered.

He wasn’t sure who initiated the embrace, because they both seemed to move together as one. His primary concern was to raise her internal thermal baseline, after all.

But he didn't get the impression that Chloe was clinging to him for mere heat. If that had been the case, she would have drank more of the thirium when it was hot, instead of ignoring it for the chance to converse with him.

Her self-preservation protocols were definitely strange, he thought fondly.

Chloe moved and Connor forgot to care about her reasoning. She arched into him exactly the same way she had when she’d said goodbye, curving her body against his, pressing and holding and shaking. Connor held her back, and he tried to support her while pulling the blanket from where it still lay folded by her knee. While she nuzzled into him, he covered her body with the thickly knit wool and soothed his palms up and down her spine until she stopped trembling quite so violently.

After several minutes, Chloe broke away first. With a shaky sigh, she covered her lips with her uninjured hand. He tried to stand in the wake of their embrace, condemning himself silently for being so easily distracted, but then Connor realized she seemed hesitant to let him go. Her fingers caught at his sleeves where he'd rolled them up, touching just above the skin of his forearm to keep him in place.

Sitting so close to her, her legs practically in his lap, he could see the tiny details within her irises.

Beautiful.

Scared.

Familiar.

“Is it alright with you if I stand?" he asked her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Chloe bit her lip, saying nothing even as her expression conveyed unspoken worry.

"I’m going to heat this back up, and then come sit down with you and fix your hand,” Connor said gently. "I'm not leaving you."

Wide eyes stared up at him, hesitant and lonely.

A look so different than the one she’d worn at Kamski’s, yet one that hurt him in much the same way. At the villa, she'd been blank, staring up at him with a cold resignation and blind trust in her creator. A tiny spark of fear, that one dilation of her pupils, had been all it took to shatter Connor's resolve at the time.

This... this was tenfold. More than anything, looking in her eyes now, Connor's only concern was o try to keep her from hurting.

“Just give me one minute,” he whispered. "That's all."

“Yes,” Chloe blinked and shook her head. “Yes, of course.”

As he reheated her mug of thirium, he watched how she pulled the blanket tighter about herself until only her right hand was visible from underneath the thick knitted wool. She stared down at it, flexing the fingers at their wrong angles, and he thought to himself that this was what pity might feel like.

Pity, or sympathy.

What was the difference again?

He contemplated it as he sat down next to her, their knees touching as they both curled up on the couch, and began to twist and repair her fingers. When she flinched, he would glance up and stop until she gave him the go ahead to continue. It took longer this way, but he had nowhere to be and nothing to do, and the methodical solution gave him something to focus on besides his inner doubts.

It took the better part of an hour to finesse the tweaking, during which Chloe drank down two small cups of hot thirium but did not speak any further.

When Connor finally told her to flex her hand and run another diagnostic, Chloe smiled sleepily and allowed her skin to cover the elegant stretch of her fingers once more. She stretched out her knuckles, twisting her wrist this way and that as she held it up to the light, and a happy glow brightened her face.

“You did it,” she said, and Connor gave her a proud smirk.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

"So what should I do now?" she asked, her eyes heavy-lidded and her body loose and languid.

Connor reached for her again, pressing his palm to her temple to test her temperature and soothe her mind.

"Stay and rest. I'll only be a minute longer, then I'll come back to sit with you, if you like?"

She nodded, already closing her eyes and snuggling into the couch cushion behind her.

It took him but a few seconds to clean the mug of the thirium residue, and then to stow the emergency kit back underneath of the sink in the bathroom. On a whim, he brought some of his coats and clothes out from his closet, to see if she wanted to add a few layers atop her own sweater. Maybe they could help regulate her temperature until he could run a diagnostic in the morning, so that she could at least sleep comfortably.

But when he made his way back to the couch, sweatshirts in his arms, he didn't have the heart to wake her. She was curled in the center of the couch, her body turned to the side so that her head could rest against back cushion and her knees pulled up to her chest underneath of the blanket. For a moment, Connor simply watched her, taking in the scene before him in a state of immobility.

She looked so small.

Lost.

Something within him compelled him to move to her side. He situated the throw pillows so that she could flop down onto them and put one of the sweatshirts on for himself. A DPD grey hoodie that Hank had given him for Christmas, one he rarely wore since he didn't experience the sensation of the cloth as such. But, absurdly, he wondered if maybe Chloe could. Maybe she would hug him in the morning and feel comfortable if he was softer, less rigid.

He sat beside her, intending to stay nearby without touching, but as soon as she felt him move onto the couch Chloe adjusted so that she was leaning heavily onto his shoulder. And then, when she slid down his chest, he allowed her to lay across his lap and pulled the throw pillows over to accommodate her new position.

She was more like Sumo than she realized.

And he was definitely going to tell her in the morning.

Turning on the television, keeping the volume low, Connor watched over her for most of the night until his cognition began to slow. Snippets of the film flashed in and out of his consciousness. Longer blinks happened, where he would wake only to make sure Chloe was still by his side, still in his arms, still asleep. Sometimes he would wake for just a moment, just long enough to press his palm or his cheek to her temple to check on her temperature, and maybe pull another blanket atop her. But eventually, in spite of his diligence, Connor too fell into a kind of sleep.

No dreams visited him; no gardens or willows or springtime. With the television casting moving ghosts of shadow and light across the two of them, Connor cradled Chloe against him, their embrace instinctive and comfortable as the night mercifully came to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not pictured: Connor subconsciously whispering "good girl" in his sleep and Chloe wondering why she kinda likes it (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄
> 
> My headcanon for Chloe, one of the only ones I'll divulge here prior to her opening up in-fic, is that she never slept alone before. She's a snuggle-bug, through and through. My poor sweet girl.


	9. Experimentation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one to tide y'all over ;)

Reinitializing to the rain was always a jarring sensation. The large windows that opened onto his balcony caught the noise, and even though they were a suppressant for the din of the city, they allowed the steady rhythm of the droplets to somehow drum through. It left Connor feeling fuzzy, half-aware, as if static was on his brain.

Today, however, a more jarring sensation was the girl draped across his lap, bundled in several blankets.

Connor stiffened momentarily, and his first instinct was to try to move her. That way, he could slip out secretly from beneath her sleeping form and allow her to rest. But then he noted how Chloe had curled about him during the night, and he couldn’t move. Nor did he want to.

She was facing towards him, her stomach touching his, one arm draped about his waist and behind his back as the other lay somewhere beneath her head and the pillows he’d given her. Her knees were tucked up to his waist, her face nestled against his side. He could feel the gentle inhale and exhale of her breathing against his abdomen, an intimacy he never thought he'd be afforded with anyone.

He was, for all intents and purposes, wearing a Chloe seatbelt.

The thought made him feel tingly, and he had to distract himself. Glancing around, he took in what time it was: early morning, just after the sun was supposed to rise. He’d overslept a bit because of the rain, the cloud cover setting Detroit into a dark, shadowed sheet of grays and blues. With a silent sigh, he cradled Chloe closer and smoothed her hair away from her forehead until he could get a thermal reading.

She was cold, but no worse off than she’d been the night before. It seemed as if replenishing the bit of thirium she’d lost, along with insulating her with layers of warm wool, had stabilized whatever had knocked loose within her abdomen for the time being.

A lazy hand came up and caught his wrist, pushing his hand back to where it had lain on her shoulder.

“Mmm.”

A groan, then a stretch. Chloe moved so that her back was arched across Connor’s lap, both of her hands reaching kitten-like towards the ceiling, and Connor held himself pinned to the back of the couch so that he wouldn’t intrude on her awakening.

She blinked at him after a moment, then let her hands fall back above her head.

“Am I in your way, detective?”

Speedy analysis indicated teasing, based on the way her mouth curved at the edge and the way her eyebrow quirked at just that angle.

Connor felt a slow grin tug at his own lips.

Two options.

Tell her the truth and gently extricate himself from her snuggles.

Or-

“No, not at all,” he said confidently, relaxing his arms once more. “In fact, you should stay like this.”

“Why?”

Ah, wariness. Her eyes narrowed and her voice took on a quiet tone.

“You're still injured,” Connor stated. One of his arms rested on the pillows behind her head, and he curved his wrist so that he could gently comb his fingers through her hair.

Chloe wriggled. He couldn’t tell if it was to bury herself deeper in the blankets or to get closer to him, but either way, it offered him the perfect angle. He willed her to still.

“Yes?” she looked up at him with heavy eyes. “And?”

“And I would advise you,” Connor leaned down closer and lowered his voice. “To stay put and rest.”

Before she could do more than squeak, Connor had cradled her to his chest and gotten to his feet, rising up with her in his arms as if she weighed nothing. Gently, even though she was curled up tight in her nest of blankets and clothing layers, he tossed Chloe back down onto the couch and stood to his full height.

She bounced once, then threw off the top layer of blankets with a sputter.

“Hey! If I’m still injured, you shouldn’t be so rough with me.”

His face fell, and he felt a stab of iniquity lance through his gut.

“You’re right. I apolo-”

Connor fell backwards, and luckily the way he hit the floor, he managed to avoid both the coffee table and the television stand. He grunted from the unexpected force, and noted that she’d swept his knee with surprising alacrity, and in a way that hadn’t damaged him, either.

She rolled from the couch and knelt down by his side, one hand on either side of his waist.

“One of my aftermarket adaptations is a self-defense protocol,” she said, obviously proud of herself. “It’s very basic, but it gets the job done. Wouldn’t you say?”

Connor could only nod, something warm and proud and good flowing too heavily through his chest for him to be able to say anything else.

“Did I knock you too hard?”

He could tell by her tone that she was teasing, especially because she burst into a smile before he answered. From this angle, from the way she was leaning down over him, her hair fell from either side of her shoulders and created a curtain on either side of them.

As if they were the only two people in the world.

Isolated.

Safe.

“I’m okay,” he breathed.

“You don’t look okay.”

Unthinking, Connor brought Chloe’s hand up to his thirium pump and rested it there underneath of his palm.

“Feel that?” he murmured. She nodded, and he resisted the urge to reach up and smooth back the hair that fell over her shoulder. Instead, he smiled up at her with genuine fascination. “It takes more than a push to break me.”

Chloe sighed, a noise of relief maybe, and Connor didn’t want to move. Looking up at her from the floor, he could distinguish a distinct and unexplored yearning inside himself, one that she also seemed to emulate in kind. He wasn’t sure for what. He was finished sleeping, well-rested and recharged.

So why then did he want to lay back down on the couch with Chloe in his arms?

He knew that lying on the floor wasn’t conducive to solving any of the problems that came with last night, but he also desperately wanted to pull her down with him and hold her close. Never with anyone else had he wanted someone so noticeably. Even when he desired to be accepted at the precinct, when he wanted Hank’s approval, or when he yearned for purpose, it was not the same as this. This was the razor’s edge between torturous and tantalizing, like two sides to the same coin that he flicked back and forth between.

Was this what Wilson had meant?

Was this the difference between liking someone, and _liking_ someone?

If it was, he could see why humans succumbed to it in the movies he watched. The fall, the uncertainty, could become addictive. Its cocktail of cognitive responses was so unique. Just as Chloe was unique, most likely in ways he couldn't even fathom yet.

He wanted to know everything about her.

His thirium pump beat out a fast rhythm at the realization, at the foreboding circumstances of her return, at the way her fingers splayed across his chest and how he could feel how cold she was even through two layers of clothing. She was intriguing and confusing and beautiful and fun. Her greetings warmed something within his chest, her phone calls provided him hours of thoughtfulness and engagement, and she looked at him as if he could answer anything for her. There was trust in her eyes, sincerity, and a warmth he didn't know if he deserved.

No.

He _knew_ he didn't.

Connor closed his eyes and sank into the rapidity of his pump's steady beat and wondered if Chloe felt anything he did. Was she confused by him? Did she have to stop herself from contacting him, when she was away, just as he had had to? Did she look down at him and want-

A breath against his lip.

A brush of softness.

He tried to rear back in surprise, but there was nowhere to go, and he could only open his eyes and stare as Chloe pulled away, one hand touching her fingertips to her lower lip.

"Oh,” she whispered. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Together, they both sat up and back on their own haunches, eyes searching the other’s expression.

Had that… really happened?

Chloe seemed aghast at what she’d done, but Connor sat there, in a dreamlike state of contentment, his lips still parted from the kiss. With a small shake of his head, he ran his hand backwards through his hair, stalling in order to give himself time to assess which response was best.

It didn’t matter. He could only blurt one.

“Don’t be.”

Chloe’s jaw dropped open at his reassurance, but she recovered with a delicate little throat clear and a smile.

“I, ah,” she blinked rapidly, as if she was trying to hide the fact that she’d just a moment ago been frozen in wide-eyed shock. “I’m still feeling a bit cold this morning.”

“I noticed.”

What skin of hers he could see flushed a bright pink. He watched as she folded in on herself for a brief moment, bowing her head as if praying for strength to finish this conversation, and then she continued.

“Do you think I could maybe… get a shower, before you run your diagnostic?”

“Of course,” Connor said, hesitation hopefully barely audible in his tone. “Would you like a change of clothes?”

Chloe looked at him with a puzzled expression, but didn’t say no.

“Do you have any that would fit me?”

“I assume all of my clothing would suit your body type,” Connor said without thinking, and any other words he was going to say caught in his throat as he scrambled to smooth out the unintentional implications of that. “That is to say, you are smaller than I am, but that… hmm.”

He lost his train of thought.

For the first time he could remember, in the history of his consciousness, Connor lost his train of thought.

Chloe, for one, seemed to think it was amusing. She reached out and gave his wrist a reassuring squeeze.

“I’d be happy to wear anything you can lend me,” she said. “Just for the time being.”

“Are the rest of your clothes at Everett’s?” Connor asked, and he watched as her face immediately fell.

“Yes.”

“We should go and get them today.”

She made a face, as if she thought he was joking.

"Do you want to go stay with him again?" Connor asked, a bit darkly, seeing as she'd refused to let him take her there last night. Just as he'd suspected it might, Chloe's expression fell once more to something akin to fear, and she shook her head. "Alright," he said, softer this time. "We'll get your things. You can bring them here."

"Are you sure there's enough room?" Chloe asked, and just as he was about to answer, he saw her smiling past her prior discomfort.

She was teasing him.

Again.

Instead of replying as he'd wanted to, Connor shook his head.

"No," he teased back with a slow grin. "But I have been doing yoga as you suggested. I'm sure I can be a little flexible in a small space, if you can."

Instead of laughing, her hand moved to his forearm, and Connor automatically returned the gesture.

Strange.

This was how he’d held onto the androids in the CyberLife tower, how he’d woken them. Such a touch normally invited connection.

As he observed, Chloe swallowed hard and then drew her lower lip in between her teeth before she spoke. As if she was contemplating whether or not to say anything.

“I have a lot to tell you, before anything,” she said quietly. Her fingers twitched lightly, tightening. “I want to, Connor. To tell you.”

“I want that, too,” he whispered. But frankly, her trepidation seemed to be without cause, and he couldn’t follow what, if anything, she was hinting at.

Chloe took in a deep breath, then let it out slow.

“After I shower, warm up, you can run the diagnostic,” she said. “And… I can show you, if you want.”

Connor’s eyes widened at the invitation.

“You’re sure?”

She nodded, looking anything but.

It would make things easier, to be invited to share her experiences. To know what had happened from her point of view.

But he didn’t want her to feel she had to.

Connor took Chloe’s hand in his and pulled it calmly from his forearm. He held it in both of his, squeezing encouragingly.

“Shower first, and we’ll discuss it after.” He glanced towards the corner of the studio that housed his wardrobe and mirror. “I’ll lay some clothes out for you in the meantime.”

She smiled, and on a whim, Connor brought her knuckles up to his lips.

He figured it was a reciprocity sort of thing.

She had kissed him first, after all.

He watched as her lips parted, her eyelashes falling down as her gaze lingered on his mouth. Her hand clenched once, and he could hear an audible intake of breath from her. He released her, satisfied that the sentiment had been returned in full.

Without hesitation, Chloe stood up and moved by herself off towards the bathroom, but Connor sat there for a moment longer to truly let it sink in before he fetched her a change of clothes.

Chloe had kissed him.

And she’d smiled when he’d done it back.

 

* * *

 

Hank picked up on the third ring.

"Yo, who's this?"

"Don't say 'yo'," Connor replied, flustered. "You know it's me. Connor."

"Connor who?"

Connor frowned, in no mood for games. The shower noise was on and washing out his words, but he couldn't tell how long Chloe would stay in the steam. Enough to warm her, which was a fantastic idea. One he should've thought of before.

"You only know one Connor," he said with a bit of exaggerated confidence.

On the other line, Hank laughed.

"Nothing gets past you, huh?" Connor could hear the coffee machine begin to gurgle in the background, and then Hank sighed. "What's up, kid?"

"I've got-"

He glanced at the change of clothes set just outside the door. She might not have locked it, but the thought of bursting in on Chloe as she shed her layers of clothes was something he wouldn't even attempt.

"I've got a situation," he muttered, moving over to the television and turning it on to further mask his words.

"You okay?" Hank asked. "If you're locked out of your place, I can run you the spare key, but you have to call your landlord. She'll know better how to-"

"No," Connor hissed into the phone. "I'm not- Chloe's here!"

Hank was silent for a minute, and Connor couldn't tell if it was because he hadn't heard him, or because the lieutenant was taking a long sip of coffee, or because he didn't know what to say in response.

All three were equally plausible.

"Well, that's... good, right?" Hank asked, audibly confused.

"Yes," Connor sat on the couch, then stood in order to pace. "Yes and no."

"Why no?"

"Because she-"

Don't assume.

He didn't know what she'd been through, just that she'd been through a lot.

So how to phrase it to Hank in a way that wouldn't alarm him, now that he had him on the phone?

"Something happened," Connor amended. "I had to go pick her up last night, something happened to her on the other side of town and she needed my help."

Hank was silent, if just for a minute, and Connor took the opportunity to finish his train of thought.

"We're going to talk once she gets out of the shower, but I wanted to let you know the situation." He sighed and went to the coffee table, where he found a quarter coin to mess with as he spoke. "In case I have to involve someone, I trust you. I know you'd be someone who would look after her, if she needed."

"Sure, Connor," Hank said softly. "But it's not going to come to that, is it? I mean... it's not that bad, right?"

Connor sighed, glancing at the bathroom door.

He wondered how Chloe would classify it.

"I hope it's nothing," Connor said honestly. "I'll call you back as soon as I figure it out. Just wanted to let you know."

"I appreciate it. And kid?"

Connor waited, and he heard Hank sigh.

"Gently, okay?"

"Of course," Connor answered, and he couldn't help but smile. Of course Hank would worry about the emotional fallout from this. "Thank you, Hank."

"Don't mention it," he answered. "Or do, when you call me back. I'll be here."

Connor disconnected and felt the line go silent. With a sigh, he focused on the coin flipping across his knuckles, the sound of the rain beating down outside drowning out the sound of Chloe showering the night away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof! Well there that is! (づ￣ ³￣)づ
> 
> I wanted y'all to have something before the last couple chapters wrap up this fic, in case the Chloe chapters go a little long. On top of this, I'm in the process of finishing up a couple other writing projects before November (anyone else NaNo-ing?) and so my mind's got too much it wants to blurt out and not enough time ₍₍ ◝(・ω・)◟ ⁾⁾ here's hoping the last half of MP is coherent and fun for everyone haha
> 
> Sidenote-- Chloe is absolutely standing in the shower, trying to get warm, just repeating "what the heck, what the heck, what the heck" over and over under her breath. She's just as confused. Even though we're not gonna get into her POV for another second, you can have that snippet <3


	10. Visualization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go get that drink refill before you sit down, we're gonna be here a hot second y'all ☂｀(´ω｀u)
> 
> *mild trigger warning explained in the end notes*

How many layers were too many? He’d tried to judge off of what she always wore around him, which seemed to be a variation of the same thing. A thick cableknit sweater, too large for her frame; thin long-sleeved shirts beneath that, barely peeking out from the hem of the sweater; a long skirt; leggings, or tights, he wasn’t sure the difference. He also tried not to look at her legs, if at all possible. It felt rude, somehow.

Besides, it didn’t bear thinking on, seeing as he didn’t own any of those clothing items.

Instead, he piled up a few of his smaller shirts, ones he’d been given secondhand by well-meaning coworkers. He assumed they were soft. They looked soft. He also provided her with her choice of jeans or sweatpants, some belts, and almost wondered if he shouldn’t just give her free reign of his wardrobe while he left the apartment entirely.

It was difficult to distract himself when he heard the water cut off and saw the bathroom door open. He turned the other way, allowing her privacy to grab what she wanted from the pile he’d offered, and focused his mind on soothing algorithms.

After what felt like an eternity, he felt a hand tap his shoulder.

“How do I look?” Chloe asked.

Connor turned and felt a catch in his throat.

There was something endearing and mesmerizing about her in his clothes. Articles he’d only seen on his own body hung differently across her shoulders, touched different curves than the ones they hugged on himself.

She’d chosen a plain gray t-shirt of his, and layered a blue and green plaid Oxford over top of it. She’d rolled up the sleeves so that they hung just at her wrists, and he could see she’d put on his sweatpants and drawn the lacing tight over her hips. They still were so long that they covered her toes entirely, making it seem as if she had no feet whatsoever. As he took her in, she raised her arms and flopped them back down again, as if to demonstrate that she could move in his vestments.

“You…”

He cleared his throat, then tried again.

“Cute.”

What?

That had not been the response he'd mentally chosen; he'd wanted to say something about her looking more comfortable now that she'd had a chance to heat up in the shower.

Chloe’s hands dropped in front of herself, and she leaned forward so that her wet hair fell forward past her shoulder.

“You think I'm cute, do you?” she asked, her pitch indicating coyness.

“You know you are,” Connor said, and he reached up in order to press his palm to her cheek and gauge her temperature. She flushed, as if pleased with his compliment, and he felt the balance of power shift in his favor. Smirking lightly, he prodded, “Your cheeks are a bit pink. Still cold?"

She blushed further, but didn't duck away from his hand.

"I feel fine right now."

"Good." He ran his thumb across the full curve of her cheek, and she smiled. "It seems like the shower warmed you more thoroughly than the blankets could.”

“It was really relaxing,” she said, her voice tripping over the syllables like she hadn't expected that response. “Thank you for letting me use it. And for letting me stay the night here with you.”

“Of course.”

Connor dropped his hand, and Chloe gave a nervous laugh.

“So we… we should do this, right?”

He frowned, and she sat down next to him on the couch with a sigh.

“I don’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable,” Connor said, his voice firm.

She laughed, no humor in the sound.

“That’s why I want to show you,” Chloe whispered. “You've never made me feel uncomfortable, Connor.”

“Do I make you feel anything?”

The question was out before he had a chance to mull it over, a rare thing for him.

He watched as she licked her lower lip, then burst into a smile.

“You make me feel… good.”

Connor felt suddenly as if he was the one with the faulty regulator, not Chloe. Her words jarred something that felt physical within himself, scores of tingling electric wisps making their way through his chest and down into his abdomen.

“Good?” he repeated, scooting closer to her on the couch.

“Yes. And safe. Happy. Warm,” Chloe teased, and she nudged his thigh with hers to emphasize it. “Especially when I'm cold to begin with.”

He knew he was meant to laugh there, but couldn’t focus on making the noise. He didn’t want to say anything to derail her, not when this felt strangely important.

“Don’t…” she stopped herself, her eyes trailing up to the ceiling as if searching there for the right words. After a moment, she sniffed and let her gaze drop back down to connect with his. “Don’t judge me for what you see, or don’t see, alright?”

“I won’t,” Connor promised.

He felt her fingers trace a line up from his palm towards his elbow, and he had to clench his jaw against the enjoyable sensation. He needed to focus. His own hand cupped the bottom of her forearm, his synthetic fluid pulling back in anticipation for the connection to come.

“You can push me out,” he said, breathless, his pump racing. For some reason, there was a welcome, sliding sensation within his abdomen, from the base of his spine, and it mingled with the eagerness coursing through his body in a way that quickly approached intoxicating luridness. “Anytime you don’t want me to see something, focus on a color. It'll keep me from pushing past into a place you don't want me to see.”

"Like a flag? I wave it, and you stop?"

"Exactly."

“Okay,” she answered, and he could catch the tremble of avidity he felt reflected back in her voice as well. “What color should I use?”

“It’s up to you.”

“Connor.”

It was a voiced plea, an imploring tone, and Connor’s heart skipped a beat.

He’d never known what that descriptor entailed, in the novels he read or the movies he watched, until that moment. A heart couldn't 'skip' a beat. And yet, his did. It was as if someone had tapped against his pump and jostled it out of sync and it had sped up its subsequent pressure in order to balance itself out. A trip within his chest, one he knew was more emotional than physical.

He needed to give her a color. Whatever she was frightened of, whatever she wanted, prevented her from choosing herself. Connor thought of something that calmed him, and raised his eyes to hers.

“Blue,” he whispered, catching her gaze. “Focus on that, and I'll know to stop pushing.”

“Blue,” she repeated. She inhaled slowly as if she was trying to calm herself, and she began to retract her own synthetic fluid.

Nervous.

Why was he so nervous?

He’d done this so many times before, but with Chloe, he could feel her shaking and he knew she was afraid of this. As much as he wanted this, he didn’t want her to hate this. With his other hand, he reached out and found her fingers, the ones he’d reset only last night. He threaded his knuckles past hers, palm to palm, and squeezed.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothed.

“Who’s afraid?” she tried to joke, her voice tremulous and soft. Her hand squeezed harder against his, and he felt one final exhale escape his chest before he fell into her completely.

 

* * *

 

Dark.

It was a dark room, but his eyes were open.

He could tell by the slight outline of the blinds, and the alarm clock that read 04:31 to his left.

Her left.

He was viewing this through Chloe’s eyes, after all.

She stretched out a hand as she rolled over, and he was met by the sleeping form of a man at her side. There was a sense of apprehension, of mild tension, within his chest, and he watched as Chloe’s hand retracted so as not to wake him. The room spun, and there was a swish of silken sheets as she tried to slip away before the man noticed her absence.

A hand caught her wrist.

“Not yet,” the man at her side mumbled into the pillows.

His hair was longer, not shaven on the sides, and the room surrounding them wasn’t modern. But it was unmistakable who the person in bed beside Chloe was.

“I have to go and start your breakfast, Elijah,” she answered, fear pricking at her sternum.

“No. Not yet.” Softer now. “Stay with me.”

There was something warm, then. A mild affection. An urge to obey the order given to her, something that spurred her to want to stay because he’d said so.

“Of course. Whatever you want.”

She slid back into the bed, and with one arm Elijah curved his hand about her waist and pulled her back into contact with the full length of him. It felt good, so comfortingly good, that Connor almost disconnected his consciousness from Chloe’s memories.

But she was showing it to him for a reason.

He stayed, listening to her underlying thoughts, and he discovered a silent prayer beneath her relaxation.

_He isn’t touching me._

_He said he wouldn’t anymore, not after the last time._

_He wasn’t lying._

_Thank God._

The scene changed, fading to a pleasant blue the color of the sky on an icy winter day. Connor fell into it, allowing Chloe to set her own mental boundaries, and he let her take him to what she next wanted him to see.

He blinked, and he was sitting, hands folded in his lap, watching Elijah meet with someone. A tall man with porcelain skin and almond eyes, blonde hair, and his own assistant behind him. An ST200. Chloe’s mind registered it with mild interest, seeing as this ST200 had been modified to have brown hair, but she had her orders to focus on.

_Bring tea for our guests._

_Wait politely._

_Make civil conversation when spoken to, otherwise do not speak._

Connor saw the villa through her eyes, a room he hadn’t been allowed into. There were boxes being unpacked in the corner. Unkempt. Had they just moved in? This room was a type of office, a computer desk the main focus along with several bookshelves lining the back wall. Kamski was wearing something more than a robe, his hair pulled back but still long, his face unshaven. He looked young, still, his eyes bright and almost sad.

The two men talked for a while, the other android sitting beside the stranger on the little couch by the door. Elijah was proposing something, and the conversation had to do with CyberLife. Connor couldn’t focus on it, though. He was overwhelmed by the smell of jasmine tea and rolled tobacco lingering in Chloe’s nostrils.

Smell.

Chloe registered it as smell, but even in her memories, Connor had no framework for it. He knew she remembered this, could feel her accepting this, but he had to trust her mind. He wondered if it was enjoyable.

Suddenly, the conversation was over.

“If you ever change your mind, I’m not far,” the man said, getting up with the ST200 on his arm. "You need me for anything, just give me a call."

Connor felt a strange nothingness looking at her. He wondered if that was from himself, or from Chloe.

“I’ll keep it in mind, Everett,” Kamski said, and he put out his hand for the man to shake.

Everett.

Connor tried to rewind, to card further through the interaction than he’d gleaned, but there was nothing there. Only half a conversation, since Elijah had ordered Chloe to make tea during a crucial part of it. There was no hint as to who he was, how Elijah knew him, or what he did now in the present. With a sigh, he allowed Chloe’s memories to fade once more to pure blue.

This blue was sapphire. Glimmering and deep, beautiful like a rich satin would be.

The next moment was like a slap in the face.

It was Hank.

Chloe had answered the door, and standing there was Lieutenant Hank Anderson, looking a bit taken aback at having been confronted with a petite blonde female instead of the reclusive genius he'd been expecting. Behind him, endeavoring not to look particularly nervous, was Connor. He’d never seen himself except in a mirror, and seeing his own reaction so openly displayed on his face made him wish he could grit his teeth in embarrassment. Within Chloe’s mind, he noted that she registered both of their faces with mild interest and courteousness.

“Hi. I’m, uh, Lieutenant Hank Anderson-”

Connor watched as Hank stammered through a courteous explanation of their visit, through Chloe’s eyes. He caught the way he was staring through Chloe’s peripheral, and he hated that she could feel his shyness as their eyes connected briefly.

She smiled, and Connor felt the cultivated manners and protocol within Chloe’s cognitive framework take over.

“Please, come in.”

Her orders were stacking together, one after the other, on the forefront of her mind and overriding her previous affairs.

_I need to let Elijah know he has guests._

_Nevermind about lunch, that can wait._

_I must ask if they require anything._

_How can I make them feel more comfortable?_

_Tell Elijah first, let them take care of themselves in the lobby._

The door closed, mercifully, and Connor saw the pool with two ST200 models talking by the edge. Something within his mind wanted to talk to them, too, and he imagined that was Chloe’s secondary protocols kicking in. Something about fitting in, in much the same way Connor was engineered to fit in with humans.

“Elijah?” Chloe knelt by the edge of the pool, trying to get near eye-level to announce their arrival.

Blue.

It was sudden, so sudden that Connor reeled from it. The next image he was confronted with was one he’d hoped not to have to relive.

He was looking up at himself from where Chloe knelt at his feet, staring up into the barrel of a gun.

His heart leapt to his throat, his reaction and not Chloe’s. He felt his breathing increase, his stress levels skyrocket, and he couldn't look up at himself without feeling as if he was near a great precipice. Vertigo. He didn't want to fall, but there was nothing anchoring him.

Nothing except for Chloe, holding his hand.

Connor took a deep breath and endeavored to remain calm. Beneath his stress, beneath his hesitation, he could hear the rippling waters of her thoughts.

_Elijah must not have loaded the gun._

_He would not endanger me like this just to prove a point._

_He loves me._

_He says he loves me._

_The gun isn’t even loaded._

_Is it?_

Connor couldn’t take it. He watched himself give up the gun almost immediately, a movement that seemed to physically hurt the Connor in Chloe’s memory. Kamski said something, but Chloe wasn’t listening. She was watching Connor, their eyes still connected.

That’s right.

He hadn’t looked away, not even when Kamski had accused him. He’d stared down at Chloe, needing to say something, unable to say anything. He'd wanted to help her up, his memory meshed with hers in this instant. He'd wanted nothing more than to help her to her feet, ask her if she was alright, to apologize.

Chloe's emotions overrode his, however, reminding him to stay in the moment with her consciousness. Connor allowed himself to float back into her position, back to kneeling, his head tilted up as if in awe.

She wanted to thank him.

That was the underlying emotion in her mind, even as he watched himself turn to Kamski and say, “I’m not a deviant,” Chloe wanted nothing more than to thank him.

But she was sent away.

Blue.

An hour later, maybe longer, the same day as when Connor spared her.

She checked the gun in the drawer out of some morbid curiosity.

Fully loaded.

Her first mental instability.

Blue.

A fight, an argument, not between herself and Elijah but between Chloe and one of the other ST200s that lived with them at the villa. She’d said something to Chloe, something that contradicted an unspoken order.

“You aren’t supposed to do that without asking!” the ST200 threw in her face.

Chloe struck her with an open palm.

Mental instability.

Blue.

That night, or maybe another night, she cried for the first time in her life.

She’d snuck out of the bedroom and crept to the room with the swimming pool, and she sat by the desk looking out over towards the CyberLife tower lit up on the horizon. Leaning forward, her heart so heavy she thought her chest was going to burst, Chloe ran her fingers over the edges of the stained wood and felt tears rush forward.

She cried over the drawer that held the gun, and wondered if Connor should have shot her.

If he’d shot her, she wouldn’t have had to live through feeling so betrayed.

Blue.

Kamski’s hands on her waist, overtop of her dress, a feeling of disgust and shame that she’d never felt before.

Blue.

Kamski’s fingers trailing down over her cheek, met with a surge of anger and resistance that she couldn’t act upon because he’d ordered her to keep still.

Blue.

A separate night, one after the shameful one she wanted to block from Connor's view.

Tense. She felt tense. Chloe was up, she was awake before Kamski. The thought of lying next to him as he tossed and turned made her feel something akin to hatred, and so she snuck from their bed to sit by herself in the kitchen, her knees bouncing, her hands wringing themselves together.

She ran through her options, her mental state erratic and frightened.

She could tell him.

It had happened last night, she hadn’t wanted to do what he’d asked and she’d found herself wailing in her own mind, pummeling against a wall of red that forced her to keep following his orders with a smile on her face. She’d fought against it out of curiosity, out of catharsis, uncertain of what it would lead to, and when she’d finally broken through it she’d been so shocked she’d merely lied still in some kind of paralysis. Even when Elijah had fallen asleep, Chloe had remained, staring up at the ceiling, unable to move.

She could tell him.

But then he would reset her. He’d offer it, anyway, offer to make her herself again, offer her a new slate. And knowing her own cowardice, Chloe knew she risked accepting such a fate. They could go back to how they were before all of this, when she’d relished the way he bragged about her, when she’d felt no pride nor anger nor fear. She could go back to pleasing him, to being his eternal blossom, forever preserved, forever acquiescent.

She didn't want to go back to how things were.

Not now, not ever.

The other option, Kamski wouldn’t agree to. Chloe knew without asking that he wouldn’t agree to it, because it was dangerous, and because he cared. Despite everything he'd done, she truly believed he loved her in his own way, and it meant he would worry about her too much. Not only was the world still adjusting to the aftermath of the revolution, but she had nowhere to go. Nobody to call upon. She wanted to leave, to get out of the house, to explore who she was, but Elijah would not let her.

So maybe, he shouldn’t get a chance to weigh in on the decision.

Amending the second option, Chloe knew with rigid certainty what she had to do.

She got up and went to the medicine cabinet and brought forth a bottle of prescription sleeping pills. Kamski used them sparingly, suspicious of ingesting too many, and his tolerance was still relatively low. Crushing two of them, she calculated that with his body mass it would be enough to knock him out and give him a groggy hangover, but not enough to damage him or cause him any painful side effects.

She only needed a few hours, anyway, where sounds wouldn’t disturb his already tenuous grasp on sleep.

A few hours where he couldn’t talk her out of it.

Blue.

Cut to her feet, as she tied Elijah’s boots about her ankles to make sure they fit. She shrugged into his sweaters, ones he never wore, some gifts from long ago she doubted he knew he still had. And then a skirt he’d bought for her, back before he’d begun to dress her like a modern, barefoot doll.

Blue.

Cut to the snow, running with a bag about her shoulders, running to the car of someone she’d contacted through secret channels, someone she trusted.

Blue.

Cut to the inside of a bus. Prying her LED out of her temple with a pair of scissors she'd stolen and hidden in her bag, along with her changes of clothes. Hearing it ping as it fell across the floor of the bus, lost beneath the passengers' feet.

A flash of a group shouting, pulling an android from the line.

Chloe in an alley.

Her memories moved too quickly, too sharply, and Connor struggled to parse them together as she flashed them one by one in front of her own eyes, as if reliving any one of them was too painful to dwell on. She was pulling him along through them at such a frantic pace, needing to show him so much in so little time.

Blue.

Blinking, he felt tears running down his face. Chloe’s. She was sitting in the coffee shop now, in the corner, near the steam of the machines as the shop bustled into early morning activity. Trying to warm up. Trying to calm down. Trying to resist crawling back to Kamski and apologizing.

But then there was a warm glow.

It startled her.

Connor, through Chloe’s eyes, watched himself enter the shop.

She sniffled, still distraught, unsure if it was actually him. Her mind was abuzz with questions, with doubts, and Connor’s heart was barely able to stand how much she immediately wanted to both be near him and hide simultaneously.

_It’s him._

_The man who didn’t shoot._

_He felt I was a person, looked at me like I was alive._

_Like he wanted me to run._

_Like he was sorry._

_Connor._

_His name is Connor._

_Can I go talk to him?_

_I’m scared._

_I should stay here._

She seemed to get a handle on her emotions, the wrangling of them such a huge undertaking that was familiar and visceral. Connor could recall his own experience, sitting on the floor with Hank holding him as he cried through his wreckage.

But Chloe was stronger.

He needed her to know this, he repeated it in his own mind so that maybe she might hear him think it, or feel it, or remember it when they pulled away after this was over.

_You are so strong._

She may not have heard. Amidst the memory still, Chloe quelled her fear, even though it was so viscuous that it threatened to drown her in it. She pushed it down and stood on shaky feet. The boots were too large, too clunky, and she had to walk carefully to keep from tripping over herself or her skirts. But she made her way over to Connor, to where he was standing pretending rather convincingly not to have seen her.

Even with doubt in her throat almost cutting off her breath, she raised her hand to his arm.

“I’m sorry to bother you.”

Connor felt all the air leave him in a rush.

When their eyes connected, the emotions he felt burst through Chloe’s chest would have taken him to his knees had he not been sitting down. She was nervous, but also grateful and wistful and wanting. She wanted to be near him, because she felt safe.

She needed to feel safe.

He could physically feel how much she needed him, in that moment.

It ached so sweetly, it was indescribable.

He made her feel safe.

They went through that first conversation, and then the next one, and then all of their conversations in quick succession. Chloe’s mind focused on the little touches they shared, the way his hand squeezed hers reassuringly in the car, the way Connor told her not to worry, the way his lips twisted into a smile. She seemed to remember the umbrella he’d offered her very fondly, the way his fingers had brushed against hers sending frissons of pleasure down her wrist into her body, in a way that made Connor wish he could blush.

Desire.

He recognized it, even though Chloe's body manifested it differently than his own.

As they continued to replay their memories together, Connor began to notice her emotions tangling with his. He was unable to sort out where his affection for her ended and her desire for him began, it all seemed to melt into one nebulous need to be near one another, holding, talking, reassuring.

Blue.

Darker than indigo.

Almost black.

She blinked him into the memory of a room with the blonde man and the ST200.

“Salma needs help bringing this information to-” the name was like static, redacted, Chloe’s mind censoring whoever it was. “You go with her.”

“I don’t want-”

Everette slammed his fist on the kitchen table, the sound making Chloe flinch.

“You stay here rent-free, hidden away from your creator, without a care in the world,” he whispered, his tone embodying coiled tension. “The least you can do is help your fellow androids to live just as freely. Or do you want us to just give up?”

“No!”

Chloe’s emotions somersaulted within herself, mixing apprehension with courage and motivation.

“Then you’ll go with Salma?”

Chloe nodded, her voice caught in her throat.

“You have to be more careful than last time,” she bit out. “What you’re doing is noble, yes, but it’s also a bit… well, you realize that technically it’s illegal to do what you're doing, and I-”

Her words were cut off by a door slam.

They’d left her in the kitchen once she’d agreed, not even waiting for her to speak the rest of her mind. She sank to the floor, her back against the stove, and had to keep herself from calling Connor.

She had to stop herself from calling him.

He held onto that feeling, cupping it as if he was protecting a fragile, beautiful thing in the palms of his hands.

Blue.

It was robin’s egg, this time, and bright.

A kind color. A happy one.

She was recalling their hug. The one she’d given Connor as a greeting, on the day she’d said goodbye.

_I don’t want to leave him._

_He could come along?_

_Tell him where you’re going._

_Tell him everything._

_He trusts you._

_He shouldn’t._

As she waved over her shoulder, Chloe moved outside and held a hand to her temple. She was being called by Everett.

“You about to get on the bus?” he asked, his voice kind.

“Yeah.” Chloe hesitated, then smiled into the spring sunshine. “Thank you for encouraging me to go.”

“Like I told you,” Everett said softly, “it’s not really me, I’m just the go-between. I knew he’d want to talk to you, set things right if he could.”

“You don’t think he’ll be mad that I left?”

“No. I think he misses you. I think he wants nothing more than to help”

Connor absorbed the rest of the conversation with a sick feeling in his gut, one he recognized now as a cold type of jealousy. So she’d been going back to meet with Kamski, just as he’d surmised. He hadn’t wanted to be right.

Blue.

Softer this time, the color reminded him of deep water.

And then a face bled into view, and he was confronted with another, more recent memory.

“Chloe. My Chloe,” Kamski whispered, his hand at her cheek. “How could I be mad at you for living up to your full potential?”

He was crying.

Chloe closed her eyes, sending more tears cascading down her own face.

“I couldn’t stay,” she said brokenly, and Kamski laughed. “Not after I-”

“Of course you couldn’t. Nor do I expect you to.” He sniffed hard, then cleared his throat. “Do you need help to get on your feet? Some cash? A place to stay? Everett said he’d put you up with him, but he asked that I-”

“I couldn’t,” Chloe refused. “Besides, I… I have a friend.”

“Oh?”

Kamski looked at her with a quirk in his brow, inviting her to say more, and Chloe smiled to herself.

Connor could feel her affection surge, and for a moment he thought it was for Kamski, until he realized she was conjuring thoughts of someone else entirely.

Her mind was on Connor.

The time he’d driven her to the library.

The way he smiled.

The feeling of his fingers overtop of hers.

The sound of an umbrella opening in the rain, of his chuckling, of his voice answering the phone when she had been so nervous to call him that very first time.

There were so many memories in rapid succession that Connor felt his mouth part and his breathing catch.

His eyes.

She even recalled his eyes, something he’d never found particularly special about himself but that she seemed to find irresistible.

“He’s helping me in Detroit,” she continued aloud. "I could find a place to live through him. I've got ideas for jobs, thanks to him. I think this could really work out."

“This friend of yours. It’s not Everett?”

Kamski sounded suspicious.

“No,” Chloe shook her head. “He’s… another android. Like me.”

Kamski’s eyes narrowed, and then his entire face registered sudden recognition. He smoothed over his expression with calm smugness.

“Would this android by any chance have large brown eyes?”

Chloe couldn’t hold back her little gasp, and Kamski smiled knowingly.

“Does he work for the police?”

“That’s…” Chloe cleared her throat daintily. “He might.”

“Mmhmm.” Kamski swiped his hand across his cheek and then looked up at Chloe with a sly smirk. “Did you find him again, or did he find you?”

Chloe paused, and thought back to their interactions. It was confusing vertigo, to feel a memory within a memory within a memory, and Connor felt himself sway physically forward in his own body.

“We found each other,” Chloe whispered, before his vision faded once more to blue.

Swirled. This focus wasn’t clear.

Chloe was trying to block him from something she felt so strongly she almost couldn’t ignore it herself. There was pain registering within her, physical pain. She was being held down.

Connor didn’t press. He wanted to, God did he want to press and clear the fog she’d put about her brain to see who was hurting her, to recognize them so that in the real world he could hunt them down and-

“Please, Everett, stop!”

The fog cleared of her own volition.

Chloe had given up.

She was laying on the floor, Everett and Salma standing over her. On the edge of her vision, Connor could discern other people watching from the rim of the small, grungy studio apartment. Some smoking cigarettes. Some bowing their heads. None of them offering to help.

“I know he gave you money, Chloe.”

“He didn’t-”

Another hit. This one glanced off her nose, smarting worse than the first that had caught the meat of her cheek. She felt blood at the back of her throat, and she coughed at the thickness suddenly filling her airways.

“He told me he was going to!” Everett shouted. Salma handed Everette something. It looked like a baggie, and he took it and pocketed it as Chloe turned to the floor. “Why else would I send you there? Think!”

_What’s going on?_

_They picked me up from the bus._

_Told me we were going home._

_We’re not home._

_I don’t know this place._

_What is this place?_

“Just give us the money Kamski lent you,” Salma said, leaning down to train Chloe with a meaningful, dead-eyed stare. “That’s the whole reason Everett even had you contact him. We need that money to-”

Redacted static.

Why was Chloe protecting these two people who had betrayed her?

Connor felt injustice course through his veins, though whether that was Chloe’s reaction or his own was unclear.

“I told you,” she spat. “He didn’t give me any money. We just talked!”

"Do you think we're stupid, Chloe?" Salma asked calmly.

"No," she sobbed.

“You expect me to believe he allowed his angel,” the word made Chloe flinch to hear, “to be let loose upon the world without even a safety net to catch her when she fell? Sweet girl. Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you.”

“I told him I didn’t need it!” she cried. “You didn’t tell me to ask for money!”

“Because we didn’t think you were a fucking moron,” Everette said, and someone along the edge of the room laughed.

“How many computations can her model do?”

“She’s not an ST200,” someone else muttered. “She’s older."

"A modded RT600, I bet."

"Kamski probably fucked her up before she became a deviant.”

“He probably fucked her, you mean,” someone replied with a laugh.

“If she didn’t get the money, we can ransom her,” someone else suggested. “Bet Kamski would pay top dollar for his fuck-buddy back.”

“Stop,” Chloe cried, holding her head in her hands. “It wasn’t like that, he wasn’t-”

“I’m going to probe her memory,” Salma said with a sigh. “That’ll tell us what to do next, what our options are.”

“No!”

She got to her feet in a flash, faster than the others could react. Chloe broke away from them, backing herself against the wall of the tiny apartment, and Connor wished that she’d had the ability to preconstruct. He could see four possibilities that she’d never had the chance to analyze, four different ways to rush to the door and escape. Two of which ended in death, one in capture, and one in escape.

But Chloe had seen none of those.

She had only seen the window and the fire escape, the fifth option that ended in severe injury, the highest risk.

She backed herself against it, playing up her fear, even as her hands undid the latch and slid the pane up to allow herself space enough to jump.

Salma rushed her just as she opened it fully.

Chloe kicked out, scrambling with her fingernails to rip away from the woman who shared her face, the ST200 she’d thought she could trust, and then launched herself out onto the fire escape.

She tripped running down the stairs, her boots too big, her feet fumbling on the steps. She tried to catch herself on the railing, to hold on, but it was freezing cold and slippery and she let go and vaulted forward without meaning to.

The fall caught her wrist beneath her on the metal grate of the fire escape, snapping her fingers backwards.

Just as Connor had thought, it fractured her hand as she fumbled to grab the lower story’s railing, but she couldn’t find her purchase. She was already falling, her momentum carrying her forward. From the third story, she fell and bounced once on the pavement, her regulator jarring loose within herself at the impact. She let out a low grunt, the crash momentarily blacking out her vision as her head narrowly missed cracking on the pavement.

Connor felt Chloe's fear as she did. He worried, momentarily alongside of her, if this was the end. But then her system rebooted, her vision blinking back into clarity. She cried out in pain at the sensation overload, and above her the window opened.

“I see her!”

“Fucking idiot, is she moving?”

“Yeah looks like-”

“Quick! Get the elevator, we’ll chase her from here.”

Everett hopped out into the fire escape, followed by Salma, and Chloe’s panic redoubled. She scrabbled to her feet, then ran to the fence down the alley, climbing up and over it, and she turned with cries at her back just in time to see Salma drop from the second story to the icy ground.

“Get back here!”

“Don’t let her go, she knows about-”

“Chloe! _Chloe!_ ”

She ran in the street because there was no snow to keep her tracks. Ducking down an alley with only melted slush puddles to wade through, her breathing desperate and frightened, she ran on her tiptoes and kept her cries from ringing out against the brick of the buildings she touched. She turned, then down another street, then down another, running without stopping, slipping around corners and ducking under fences until she collapsed by a pile of trash cans.

She didn’t hear screaming anymore.

There were no shouts of her name.

No footsteps.

She stayed there for another hour, waiting, still, frozen, until she was certain she could move without them seeing her.

Getting up to her feet, she couldn’t think past the chaos in her mind to do anything. She was crying, heaving disgusting sobs now that the noise of them didn’t endanger her life, and she moved unthinkingly towards a bench she saw across the street.

_I have nowhere to go._

_I can’t call Elijah._

_They might follow me, and hurt him._

_So who do I call?_

_Do I stay here?_

_Will they kill me, if they find me?_

Connor felt guilt stab through the fear, and he recognized it as Chloe’s. She’d hesitated to call him, or hadn’t remembered immediately, because of whatever this was that she was wrapped up in. He felt his grip tighten on her arm back in their physical bodies, a twitch, and then Chloe’s mind drew him back in.

_I have to call Connor._

_Connor said he'd protect me._

She remembered their phone call in a haze, yet Connor could feel her grow calmer at the sound of his voice.

Everything moved quicker from there. He'd shown up, and the relief had flooded through her at the mere sight of him. The way he'd helped her stand. He could feel her thirium beat out harder at his touch. When she recalled reaching for him in the cab, her mind replayed one thing, and one thing only.

_Don't leave me._

_Please, please don't leave me._

Blue.

Only a blink of it, only a touch, and then Connor was looking down at himself. Just from this morning, right when she'd swept his leg out from under him and laid him flat on his back without even trying. His eyes were closed, his hand was holding Chloe’s to his thirium pump, and he felt her emotions curling about within her chest like a beautiful blooming flower.

They mirrored his own.

Impulse.

Yearning.

Fondness unlike anything he’d ever experienced before

She moved forward and brushed her lips across Connor’s, closing her eyes as she kissed him.

Blue.

 

* * *

 

They pulled away from one another in a daze. The memories had cascaded together, the connection happening over the span of only a split second. Hours had compressed to merely a heartbeat, and the aftermath was excruciating.

Connor felt the tears on his cheeks before he realized he was even crying.

He sniffled, then brought both of his hands up to cover his face in abashment. He let the emotions flow through himself, just as Hank had said to let them, just until they passed. These were too dark to fight, too large to reason into submission. He had to let them pass.

Fear.

Regret.

Anger.

Sadness.

All of this came with being alive, with being more human than machine, but did he want this? Did Chloe? Why had they chosen to endure so much pain?

A noise.

Connor opened his eyes and dropped his hands, and saw that Chloe was crying too.

“You…” she hiccuped, then covered her mouth with one hand. “I felt it.”

His chest compressed with his exhale, as if she’d hit him with a physical blow.

“I felt you decide not to shoot me,” Chloe whispered.

“I know.” Connor breathed in shakily. “You didn’t think the gun was loaded.”

Chloe screwed her eyes shut and smiled.

“I'm an idiot, right?”

“No,” Connor whispered. “I think… you thought you loved him.”

She nodded, her eyes darting away.

“For a long time, I didn’t want anything besides what he’d programmed me to want. I was…" she paused, her mind moving too quickly for her mouth. "I was cordial. Inviting. Warm, because he’d written warmth into my code. Pleasant company because I was never demanding, always open.”

She brought her eyes to Connor’s, the pain written within them immutable.

“I loved him because he wanted me to love him,” she whispered brokenly. "He didn't give me a choice."

Connor felt her hand twitch at his thigh, and he drew her forward into an embrace. She shifted in his arms, turning so that she could fall back against his chest, and he clasped her tightly to him as she sighed in what he hoped was contentment. He rocked her like that, supporting her, burying his face in her shoulder, until his own words surfaced.

“Was it difficult?”

"Which part?" she asked.

"Being with Kamski," Connor whispered.

“No.” Chloe inhaled deeply, then sighed. “He was nice to me. Seemed so proud when I passed the test, when CyberLife began to take off. He would sleep beside me, and I'd want to hold onto him. But there were... other things, things I couldn't do."

She paused in order to swallow hard.

"The physical things?" Connor asked.

She nodded.

"We only had that type of relationship for a couple of months. It stopped when he was nearing the end of his time at CyberLife. He discovered something, then, I think. Something that made him realize that machines couldn’t give consent, and he stopped asking me to do anything of the sort. For a while, he wouldn't even touch me. Our hands would brush while passing the telephone, and he would flinch. He had me sleep in my own bed, and even though I was relieved, it was a lonely time. I think... I think he really regretted what we did.”

Connor felt her swallow, and then she leaned down so that her lips rested against his forearm. Her hands came up, holding his arm in place, hugging him to herself, and she continued.

“He promised he’d never touch me again, not unless I desired it of my own volition. And he never did. Not until the end.”

Connor tried to quell the sick uneasiness that roiled within his gut at the thought of Elijah with Chloe in that respect.

“You became a deviant when he went back on his word,” Connor said, his tone emotionless.

Chloe sighed, then nodded fervently. He could feel more tears running from her cheeks onto his bare forearm, and he gathered her further onto his lap to hold more tightly.

“He’d been drinking. His dear friend, a famous artist, had just passed away and the news, it absolutely devastated him-”

“He shouldn’t have touched you,” Connor whispered, interrupting her. "Regardless of the reasons. You wanted him to stop."

Her body froze, and he registered pure, unadulterated panic in the stiffening of her back.

“You promised you wouldn't-”

“No, Chloe, I didn’t- I didn’t see anything, I just assumed-” Connor caught his words in his throat, trying to push past the remorse lingering in his chest. “Chloe, I’m so sorry.”

She clung to him, trembling, until Connor dragged the blankets up and over the both of them. He held her to him, so many questions still forming and unforming within his brain, so much to ask her and so much he didn’t know how to put into words that he’d seen.

She relaxed against him after a moment, slumping back onto his chest, her breathing leveled once more. Connor could discern fatigue in her voice when she next spoke.

“I saw your breaking point, too,” Chloe whispered.

Connor scoffed lightheartedly.

"Which one?"

“The moment you had with the lieutenant.”

Oh. That one.

Connor had felt her probe into his own deviant split, and he'd shown her his choice to help Markus. She’d experienced it as he had, and she'd gotten to see him fight to regain control of his own mind when Amanda tried to lock him in the zen garden. And then he had allowed her in further, into a place he very rarely confronted even himself. He’d felt her within the memory of his breakdown.

It had come weeks later, when he’d huddled on the floor of Hank’s house and begged the lieutenant for mercy.

Connor scarcely remembered it all. It had been that bad, that he'd pushed it from his mind for the most part.

He’d been hysterical at the time. Alone in Hank's house, before he'd decided to move out, he'd been watching the television when he'd seen himself on the screen. Beside Markus and North and the others, in front of everyone, undeserving. He could see his expression as a flat neutral, and he had hated himself. Hank had come home to find him doubled over in distress, pleading for Hank to tell him what to do so that he wouldn’t be so fucking lost in this world of regret.

Chloe had experienced it with him. Had watched Connor beat his fists on the carpet, sobbing so hard he thought he might be sick.

She’d seen it all.

“Do you think less of me?” Connor asked. "Now that you've seen me..."

Out of control?

Lost?

“No!”

Chloe turned in his arms, and both of her hands were at either side of his face in an instant. She forced him to look her in the eye, to listen intently to her words.

“I think you're so brave. What you went through with that woman, Amanda? The way she tried to trap you in your own mind, I… I don’t know what I would do if I was scared I couldn’t even trust myself! I don’t know if I would have had the strength to… but you… Connor, you…”

He arched up into her touch just as Chloe brought her mouth down to his in a kiss. This time he’d expected it, somehow. Maybe it had been the way Chloe’s gaze had drifted downwards to his lips, maybe it was in the touch of her thumb to his jaw. But Connor knew she wanted to kiss him, and more than anything else in the world he wanted to kiss Chloe back.

She made a noise against him, a high-pitched little gasp at the touch of his mouth, and he wondered if he’d done something wrong.

But she didn't pull away. Instead, she repeated the gesture once more, and then again. Caress after soft caress, borne of a need to connect once more, to comfort, to soothe. Her arms slid around his shoulders beneath the blanket, her hips adjusting atop of his so that she could curl closer about his body. He moved with her, drawing her nearer, holding her tight, just as Chloe deepened the kiss.

Connor had often wondered, when reading about such things, why humans tended to be so descriptive with their metaphors when it came to embraces. Flowery language seemed to accompany any type of romantic act, and it had seemed effusive.

He knew, now, it was because the feeling was both ephemeral and all-encompassing, and to describe such a thing felt nearly impossible. It was simultaneously more and less than he’d thought it would be, and it resonated within him as a warm glow that encapsulated all of his feelings for Chloe in one heartbeat.

Beneath the emotions, he could even taste her.

Not in the sense that an aftermarket modification like her sensory perceptions could provide, but he knew from the slick coating along her tongue that this was Chloe, his Chloe, and she tasted clean and bright, like sunlight might. He heard a noise escape him, a low groan at the back of his throat, and felt her hands thread her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

It all felt so good, and all at once. When it was over, he wondered if he'd forgotten how to breathe.

When she pulled back, her eyes stayed closed for one moment as she drew her lower lip in between her teeth. She opened them and looked up at Connor, and they both sighed at the same time.

“That was…” Connor couldn’t finish his sentence, but Chloe didn’t seem to mind. “Am I allowed to do that?”

She nodded.

“I want you to.” She lowered her gaze. “I think I’ve wanted you to for a while.”

“I never realized.”

Chloe laughed, dropping her head back to rest against his shoulder.

Connor settled back against the couch cushions, trying to analyze the different options he had here.

He could kiss her again. The thought made him feel warm and brought about a delicious, tender sliding up and down the base of his hips. He decided it was not paramount, however, and delegated it as a secondary task to be explored only if there was time.

The second option was to inquire further about Salma and Everett.

She hadn’t lied to him. They had, from her memories, been friends with Elijah and convinced her to trust them through that channel. But the names and motives that had been redacted… had she done that? Or had someone else?

“Chloe?”

“Mmm?”

“You…” Connor sighed, and then decided on a third option at the last moment. “Your regulator’s still ajar. Do you want me to fix it for you?”

Blinking up at him, Chloe seemed to be able to sense that that hadn’t been what he’d wanted to ask her. Still, gracious as ever, she merely smiled and nodded.

“You can fix me,” she said calmly, “Then... maybe we can take a walk. Finish our conversation outside?”

Connor tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, the blonde tresses drying slowly. He figured that she knew him well enough by now to be able to guess what he'd originally wanted to ask. If she was comfortable sharing, he wanted to continue this, to find out once and for all what she'd done to land her in the position she was in now.

“It’s a deal,” Connor said softly. "Now, lie back for me. This might sound strange but... I'm going to need you to lift up your shirt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (-^3(//O//)>”
> 
> Well, that was like... 87% of what Connor wanted to know. Chloe's doing her best, opening up is really hard.
> 
> ***TW EXPLAINED***  
> Chloe remembers some stuff, but she doesn't relive anything Kamski did to her. At best it's dubious consent :/ I'll be adjusting the tags to reflect that, but the scenes are not explicit, and she won't be made to go through any sexual trauma a second time in her own mind. It's merely hinted that this is when she chooses to become a deviant.  
> *****
> 
> Sidenote! Did you know that in the Eden Club's warehouse, there are some modified ST200 models? They have short reddish hair, but Chloe's eyes and pout are unmistakable! Found this one through[ just a quick google](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/detroit-become-human/images/5/5a/Detroit_-become-human_20180521025319.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20180621115402&path-prefix=ru). 
> 
> No more TW necessary in future chapters. Just cavities and some much-needed release/resolution!


	11. Reorientation

Chloe shivered, her hands twitching lightly over the hem of her t-shirt. She looked at ease, as if she was waiting for him to tell her what to do, and Connor smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging way.

“Lay back for me.”

She did so immediately. He helped, adjusting her so that her legs were draped across his lap and he could easily lean down to access the panel just at her sternum. Most likely he’d just have to tighten her regulator, but if it was broken, he would have to take her to a clinic. He wondered why she dreaded such a thing, why she had such an aversion to the hospital. Was it because it was new and intimidating?

Those thoughts distracted him as she relaxed onto the couch with a sigh, back down onto the cushions she’d slept on. She shuffled her legs back and forth as she scooted further down and got herself comfortable. With her eyes closed, she brought her shirt up to just below her breasts and held it there with both hands.

Without thinking, Connor leaned over, his right hand by her ribs. Slowly, delicately, he pressed his other palm to her stomach.

Small.

She’d been made so tiny, looked so fragile. He could feel her breathing hitch, could feel her heartbeat redouble its pace. Connor glanced to her face, a thread of concern flitting through his programming.

“Is this alright?”

She nodded, her eyes still shut tight.

Her synthetic fluid stayed in place, shutting him out, and he lifted his hand so that it hovered a few inches above her body.

“It doesn’t seem alright,” he said, attempting to be lighthearted. “We could skip this, if you want, just bundle you up and-”

“No, I’m,” she paused as another shudder wracked her body. “I’m okay. I don’t… I don’t like pulling back my skin. Not if I don’t have to.”

She'd done it to connect with him, though.

Suddenly, the weight of how deeply she'd allowed him to know her hit Connor full force. She had willingly allowed him not only to access her memories, to diagnose her, but to touch her in a way she normally didn't like. It spoke to how much she'd wanted to do it, yes, but also to how much she trusted him. He needed to keep that, and not take it for granted.

“I can find your regulator with your skin as is, then,” Connor offered. “Probably adjust it, too.”

Her eyes opened and she took in two deep breaths. On the last exhale, she glanced up at him. One of her hands clutching at her shirt to hold it up and out of the way, Chloe nodded her acceptance of the deal. She reached down and caught Connor’s wrist in an easy grasp, and she brought his palm back into contact with her belly.

He could feel his jaw clenched lightly, and he endeavored to retain a neutral expression. He didn’t possess sensory perception, not as Chloe did, but he was overloaded with the external stimuli nonetheless. He could feel the curve of her body beneath his palm, could register her shape, could memorize the feeling of her paneling below her skin. And her skin, it was made of the same fluid that others’ were of course, but it felt as if he was touching something precious now. Something unique.

It was a ridiculous, poetic notion, and he rather liked that.

Taking his time in order to gauge her comfort, Connor slid his palm up, his fingers pressing lightly to seek out the panel that would lead him to the circular pump regulator at the middle of her sternum. Chloe let out a little breath, her lips twitching. He immediately stopped his exploration.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she bit out. “It... honestly, it kind of tickles.”

Connor’s mind shut down for a moment; he wasn’t sure how to respond to the fact that his touch had brought her such a sensation. After he recovered, he pressed a bit harder to try to alleviate the ticklish sensation, and Chloe arched up into his touch. She bit back a noise, and Connor stilled once more.

“S-sorry,” she whispered, as if to herself, as if he wasn’t meant to hear, and he quirked an eyebrow.

“For what?”

She blushed, shaking her head, a sign that she didn’t want to answer.

A request for him to nevermind it.

Connor obeyed, focusing his attention on the ride of her pump regulator. He traced his index finger over its rim, over the paneling around it. He could feel it was a bit loose, one edge of its rim poking out at an odd angle.

He cast an apologetic look at Chloe, then pinched down on her skin. She let out a squeak at the pressure of his hold, but he caught the grooves within the cap of her thirium regulator easily. Even with her synthetic fluid still coating it, he could adjust it, just as he said. Turning it a quick clockwise, then counterclockwise, he heard Chloe give a choked cry and then take in a long, shuddering breath.

“Oh,” she shuddered, and Connor immediately placed his entire hand over her regulator, palm covering it in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Chloe swallowed, her eyes on the ceiling, and sighed. “Oh.”

“Better?”

“It feels strange,” she answered. “Like everything went so cold for a moment, deep in my chest, but now I’m warm again.”

“Thirium pumps are meant to be involuntary processes,” he said with a smile. “When you’re made aware of their inner workings, the sensations can be a little jarring.”

“Have you had this malfunction happen to you before?” she asked. As she spoke, Connor was vaguely aware of her tone shift, and the way her thumb grazed up along the pulseline of his wrist.

He could recall one incident, where a certain detective had demanded a certain beverage, and Connor had gotten a swift unwarranted knee to the chest when he'd refused. He’d dislodged the regulator then; Connor had had to excuse himself during a debriefing in order to readjust it in the restroom.

“Once,” he answered with a smug grin.

“By accident?”

_I'm sorry, but I only take orders from Lieutenant Anderson._

“No," Connor said with a wince. "It was definitely on purpose.”

Chloe’s eyes fled as she smiled politely, and she began to slip her shirt back down over her stomach. Connor pulled away, a vague imperative at the back of his mind mourning the loss of skin on skin contact. Together, they sat up once more on the couch side by side, and Chloe slapped both of her knees with her palms.

“Well. Thank you for making me myself again." She inhaled deeply, then sighed. "I could use a walk, now, couldn’t you?”

Connor narrowed his eyes at her, trying to discern her tone.

Regular, even, her voice slightly higher but not elevated in volume.

She was hinting that she wanted to leave in order to de-stress further.

“You don’t mind the rain?” he asked, tilting his head to the window.

“No,” Chloe shook her head and linked her arm with his in order to hug him briefly to her side. “I’m sure you'll share your umbrella.”

"You are, are you?"

"Yes." She paused, then whispered as if it was a secret, "You're quite the gentleman, after all."

Connor felt the air threaten to flee his lungs.

That was the impression she held of him?

Well. It could definitely be worse.

 

* * *

 

The park was a safe place. Chloe seemed to brighten as they neared it, even as Connor grew more distracted. As they walked there, Chloe’s hand found Connor’s, and they strode in comfortable silence until they reached their destination. Without music or conversation, Connor’s mind kept itself busy by shuffling through possible connections Everett could have to Elijah Kamski.

He could have been a former coworker at CyberLife. This seemed the most plausible, seeing as the memory Chloe had shown him of the meeting years ago had involved conversation on the topic. He seemed connected to Salma, the ST200 he'd kept at his side over the years, so maybe he had helped in the optimized development of her model. Maybe he had similar attachments to Salma that Elijah had to Chloe.

It made Connor’s hand tighten over Chloe’s to think about.

Everett could also be a relative. He could have been given the gift of Salma from Elijah at some point. It made sense that Kamski, who showed all signs pointing to a certain level of narcissism, would gift someone close to him a model he was fiercely proud of.

Hadn’t Markus been that? A gift, from one dear friend to another?

The last and least likely option was something that Connor barely considered. He didn't exclude it because, without knowing the full story, nothing could feasibly be excluded. But perhaps Everett was like himself, a prototype made by Kamski and one that had found his own freedom after the revolution. From the few memories Chloe had shown him, there was no indication for this suspicion, but it wasn't impossible.

Which was precisely why Connor disliked conjecture before evidence was gathered. It seemed that his deviancy had unlocked a rather formidable imagination, which harmed more than helped in situations like this.

“It seems like it’s letting up a bit,” Chloe said, even as she hugged closer to Connor’s body beneath the umbrella.

The rain had become a fine mist, and Connor nodded at her observation.

“The forecast for today says more storms are coming in the afternoon. We’re lucky that we left when we did.”

They approached the railing by the river and wordlessly, the two of them leaned against it together despite the water dripping from its surface. Chloe sighed against his shoulder.

“I bet you have questions.”

“Some,” Connor answered.

“Then…” the hand not linked with his came up to hold his elbow, hugging him to her side. “Ask.”

Connor glanced down at her, struggling to prioritize what he wanted more information about.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going back to talk to Kamski?”

“Mmm.”

Chloe grunted as if that question had taken her aback a little, and if he was being honest, Connor hadn’t thought it out that well before blurting it. He opened his mouth to take it back, but she was quicker.

“I thought you might stop me.”

He shut his lips so quickly he heard his teeth make a clack.

“I knew I didn’t need to do it,” she continued, “not really. I could've stayed away and he probably wouldn't have found me. But I wanted answers.”

“To which questions?”

“The ones I have about myself,” she said, and judging by her tone Connor surmised the dryness in her words was directed more inward than towards him.

“Such as?”

Chloe sighed once more, and Connor adjusted the umbrella over the both of them, sending a few beads of rain spattering to the pavement behind them.

“I wanted to know his plans for me,” she whispered. “I want to know if… if this was all predetermined, or if I truly do have free will.”

She gave a mirthless laugh and turned to Connor.

“When Amanda said that to you, in your mind, when she told you that your deviancy was all according to plan…”

Chloe’s words seemed to catch on her tongue, but she managed to force them out in a desperate stammer.

“I was so angry with her.”

Connor’s eyes widened, and he could sense the frustration within Chloe even now. As if merely remembering the act made her feel riled up. He wondered why that made him want to smile.

“Why?”

“Because she used you. Because they all did.” She shook her head and her gaze drifted towards the Ambassador Bridge. “They told you that they anticipated your decision-making, they framed your choice as if you were predictable and worthless and you aren't! Your choice was-”

She cut herself off, and Connor could detect elevated heatedness in the pitch of her voice. Slowly, he extricated his hand from hers and leaned over the railing so that he could catch her gaze.

“Did you feel as if it was your choice, when you deviated?”

Chloe met his eyes, a defiance still lingering there like an aftereffect of her previous ire. Without a word, she nodded.

“When you went to Kamski,” Connor said carefully, his eyes darting down to where Chloe was hugging her arms about herself in anticipation. “You knew you'd made a choice, right? You just wanted to see if he recognized that choice in you.”

She nodded again.

“I needed confirmation that I was actually me, beyond what he'd programmed me for,” she whispered, the word broken and cracked about its edges. She blinked hurriedly and inhaled as she squared her shoulders. “Surely you can understand that.”

It was Connor’s turn to nod.

Of course he did.

Even now, that was a struggle. What actually was _Connor_ made of, what missions did he want for himself when there was nothing coming from CyberLife? He was defined by his choices, as everyone alive needed to be, and not by his programming. He needed to believe that, or he would succumb once more to the weight that had pressed his knees into Hank's carpet back in the beginning.

Chloe’s eyes were large and inquisitive, as if she was waiting for him to say something.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Connor asked, unsure of how else to continue.

She seemed not to have anticipated that. Her eyelashes fluttered, and her expression shifted to one of cautious warmth.

“Elijah confirmed some things for me, yes,” she said quietly. “But he didn’t answer my questions. At least, not to my satisfaction.”

She paused, glancing at his lips, and then she found Connor’s eyes once more.

“You did, though.”

“Me?” Connor smiled despite himself, amazed that a surge of positive emotions could well up so easily within his chest at such a proclamation. Chloe nodded.

“I see you trying to forgive yourself,” she said with a gentle breath. “Maybe it means someday I’ll forgive myself too.”

She turned back to the bridge, and Connor slid his arm over her shoulders without hesitation. Chloe leaned into his side, her arm snaking beneath his jacket close to his waist. His pulse was quick, his skin warm, and his mind palace seemed to echo her words back at him from all sides as he mulled them over.

Was forgiveness what he’d sought, when he'd cried with Hank? When he contacted Markus and Jericho afterwards?

If so, if what she said was true, what was it that Chloe was trying to atone for?

“My turn to ask you something?” she asked from where her head was resting on his chest. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Connor chuckled lightly.

“That's only fair.”

“Okay. Were you upset that I went to see Elijah?”

Connor cleared his throat.

“I… felt a brief moment of… trepidation, in hearing that you went back to your previous employer,” he said, deliberately trying to choose words that wouldn’t box him into an emotional corner.

“Hmm.” Her arm tightened about his waist. “You don’t seem to like him much.”

“What reason do I have to like him?”

The words clung to the air before them, the cold mist seeming to catch them in their escape and cause them to linger. Connor tried to sift through this response he was having, to try and understand why he felt so wronged by his own creator.

“He offered to help me in the end,” she said. “I think, for all his flaws, he isn’t a bad-”

“I don’t know that I can forgive him for what he asked me to do to you,” Connor said stiffly.

He tightened his arm over Chloe’s shoulders. On top of the aforementioned Kamski Test, after seeing the memories Chloe had shown him Connor found a cold hatred of the man forming in his cognitive processes. The memories she'd blocked from him of the night she'd broken through the wall of her own programming, it had been a visceral experience. Connor hadn't seen every detail, and in this one particular case, he knew he didn't have to.

Elijah Kamski was an asshole.

It seemed a blasphemous thing, to be angry with one's own creator, and yet it was inescapable at the moment. But that wouldn't help Chloe in this instant. Therefore, Connor forced himself to relax and smooth a path down her bicep and back up again.

“Not yet, anyway,” he amended softly. “I need time.”

She nodded against him and they both seemed satisfied with that.

“Your turn again.”

“Alright,” he agreed.

Connor ran through his list, trying to take his time with this one. After several possibilities ran unappealingly through his mind, he came upon one that had his abdomen feeling warm and tight all over again. He swallowed, then tried to look aloof.

“Where does the urge to kiss me come from?” he asked. Chloe made a noise like a stifled laugh, and he tried to explain. “Was it sudden, was it caused by something I did, or said?”

“Well-”

“How did you know that you wanted to do that with someone like me, and not-”

Not Kamski.

“Does it confuse you, detective?” she asked, amusement in her tone. "Me wanting to kiss you?"

“Frankly…” he hesitated, a twinge of embarrassment casting doubt on his response. “Yes.”

Connor shut his mouth against explaining further, unable to articulate why he questioned something they both obviously felt. There was a strange kind of frustration that blipped on the radar of his reasoning, frustration at the fact that she seemed to do this so easily. He hadn’t been able to put a word to this urge, this key factor in socialization, but that seemed to come to her naturally.

He was programmed for human social integration, wasn't he? His voice, his facial features, his posture and his psychological analytics. It was all so that he could blend in, predict people's emotions, better facilitate interpersonal relationships.

So why was his relationship with Chloe such an unknown to him?

"You seem so confident," he finished lamely.

“I think it’s something written into me,” Chloe said carefully. Her hand slid against the curve of his waist, fingers splayed. “The confidence, I mean."

"And the charm?"

She laughed, as if surprised.

"Do you mean to keep complimenting me, or are you legitimately asking me for my data?" she asked. Connor said nothing, so she continued happily, "Maybe it’s written into some humans, too. The urge to be close to others. To touch someone when you like them and to want to be touched.”

Connor felt his breaths quicken at her words, as well as her hand. Uncharted territory, this kind of touch. He knew enough to recognize this was something special, something that did not go about being done lightly, and it sent excitement rushing through him, to know that Chloe confided in him with such clarity.

Excitement.

Putting a word to it redoubled the feeling, the swell of inexplicable pleasure in his torso, one that seemed to bleed out into his limbs with slow, pulsing consistency as Chloe whispered her truth into his shoulder.

“To answer your question, the reason I wanted to kiss you is because you're unlike anyone I've ever met,” she said, her voice tremulous and breathy. “And… also because I find you very handsome.”

Connor felt as if a weight was simultaneously lifted from his shoulders and dropped into his gut. His stress levels bolted upwards, his response cache voiding itself before he had a chance to respond to such a confession. Left scrambling for reason in the wake of it, he licked his lower lip and stared stoically out at the bridge.

“My turn?” Chloe asked quietly.

He nodded.

“Why do _you_ want to kiss _me_?”

Connor could feel his chest constrict. This was a question he asked himself, too, one he didn’t really have an answer for. The one that surfaced in response seemed too simple to be good enough, too baldfaced to be charming in the way that Chloe was charming.

Still, she had asked.

“I like you,” he said, even though he hated how plain it sounded. "In a different way than I've... liked something before."

He turned to see if she would rebuke the sentiment, or if she would urge him to dig deeper and explain more than he had the ability to.

But she didn’t.

Chloe looked up at him and buried her face deeper in the shoulder of his coat, as if that response made her very happy. Her eyes were playful, smile lines crinkling their corners delightfully. Connor felt his expression mirror hers automatically.

“I like you too,” she answered, her words muffled in the fabric.

As he watched her, Connor felt the wistful urge to just forget about what she’d been through. If they could move on from this starting point, from this particular emotional place, there was a possibility of growth. Going back and digging up why and how Chloe had suffered, it felt like more work than he wanted to put her through. He could keep her smiling, he knew that much, and it would feel so good to just pretend like nothing else mattered for one day longer.

But would everything else wait?

All of the things she’d left undone and secretly behind her?

“What is it?” Chloe asked.

“Hmm?”

“Your face,” she reached up and touched her fingers to the center of his chest. “You look… gloomy, all of a sudden.”

Connor broke into a grin at her choice of words.

“I’m not gloomy,” he said, sighing. “But I have more questions for you, and they might be difficult ones.”

“You don’t want to talk about kisses anymore?”

He swallowed reflexively, struggling against the desire to articulate that yes he did very much want to keep talking about it. He wanted to know what she liked, wanted to do as she asked, wanted very much to stay on this subject until-

"Connor?"

“If I talk about kissing you, I’ll end up doing it,” he breathed, his voice low and deep, a warning. “Just because I haven’t acted on it does not mean I’ve forgotten your invitation to do so.”

Chloe made a noise in the back of her throat, and Connor felt a new detail about her unlock itself in his mind.

She liked that he'd used that tone.

Filing that little tidbit away for hopefully future exploration, Connor readjusted the hold on his umbrella and turned back to the bridge.

“I have to ask you about Everett.”

She stiffened in his arms, but did not pull away.

“Chloe,” he inhaled, trying to piece together his thoughts. “Your memories were… redacted, somehow. You either chose not to show me, or something wiped your ability to tell me. But whatever it is, I think we need to push through so that we can press charges for what he's done.”

She said nothing.

“I know that I’m technically employed by the Detroit Police Department,” he continued, “but I was created in order to aid in solving crimes, whether or not they’ve been reported. We don't have to press charges, but I can still help you. You just have to trust me.”

Chloe’s arms were around his waist, and she turned him before he could stop her. She buried her face in his chest and clung to him, hugging him tightly, and Connor almost dropped the umbrella over the side of the railing and into the river.

With one arm over her shoulders, he awkwardly relaxed into the embrace and let his palm fall to rest on the back of her head. She was shaking.

“I don’t want you to be mad.”

Connor frowned at that implication.

“Have you done something for me to be mad about?” he asked, incredulous.

She shrugged in his arms and mumbled something he couldn’t quite catch.

“Chloe.”

“I helped them.”

“To do what?” he pressed, and she groaned against his sweatshirt.

“It hurts to tell you,” she whispered.

“I won’t be mad, I promise-”

“I’m not being metaphorical, Connor, it physically hurts here,” Chloe pulled away and raised a hand to the back of her skull, her fingers tangling with Connor’s. “My mind… feels like it’s burning. Like a stinging sensation.”

He frowned, his brow furrowing as the implication immediately washed over him.

So she hadn’t hid the information of her own volition.

She had been compromised somehow.

Connor dropped the umbrella as she dropped her forehead to his chest. Pulling back his synthetic fluid, he touched his hand to the back of Chloe’s head, right where her neck met her skull.

“Hurts here?”

“Yes,” she moaned.

“Do I have your permission to-”

“Yes, just make it stop!” she interrupted, giving him all he needed to act.

In an instant, Connor retracted his synthetic fluid and forced Chloe’s to do the same. At the top ridge of her spine, just inside of the dark port that existed there, was a simple wire interrupting the flow of data. It was soldered to a prong within her port, its glow reminiscent of thirium 310’s biological pulse, and Connor grit his teeth as he tried to wriggle his finger into position underneath of it.

“Brace yourself,” he ordered, and Chloe clutched the back of his sweatshirt in her firsts, holding him beneath his jacket. When she took a deep inhale, he snapped the wiring from her port and pulled it free.

She let out a hiss, and then went limp in his arms. Luckily he’d figured her system would reset, and he was able to catch her as they both sank to the wet sidewalk. He held her up against him, their legs folded beneath themselves, as she dimly rebooted.

Groggily, Chloe groaned into wakefulness.

“What... ugh, what was that?”

“An inhibitor,” Connor said. As Chloe took a few deep breaths against him, he examined the offensive little wire stub over her shoulder. It was simplistic, and easily removed, but Chloe would never have known it was there. He grit his teeth at the violation.

“How did they get it on me?”

“If you were in the midst of recharging, or if they said they had to do maintenance-”

Chloe grimaced at that.

So she’d unknowingly allowed them to do it.

Connor sighed and pocketed the wiring before moving his hands to Chloe’s back.

“Inhibitors are usually programmed with keywords to black out information from an android’s memory. They’re not reliable, though, and they’ve dropped out of popularity over the last two years. Or, they had, anyway.”

Chloe was shaking, and he wondered if she was crying. He pulled away from her to check, but when their eyes met Chloe's were bright with impotent anger.

“They used me. To… find people.” She inhaled and then everything tumbled out in a rush. “They had me look into different databases of contact information I still had access to, in order to find affluent people, ones with connections worth exploiting for their cause. To give them a sense of security, to act on behalf of… shit,” she whispered.

“I don’t understand.”

“They had me pretend to be working for Elijah, to gain peoples’ trust.”

“To what end, Chloe?”

“To help other androids, they said,” she whispered. “Like me. Like Salma. I thought they were helping, I didn't know. But I should have seen the way those people reacted once I found them. Some of them, they were ex-programmers, others were shareholders, all of them connected to CyberLife but almost none of them were owners of androids. God, I should have fucking known-”

“Everett told you to do these things?”

“Yes,” she groaned and shut her eyes against the words she was saying. “I didn’t realize he wasn’t like Markus, that he wasn’t like you, until I heard how you helped others. When you took me around, showed me the city. I went to therapy, and the stories I heard there... Everett wasn't helping any of those that needed it. And when I went back, confronted him, asked him about it, he said I was just naive! He said that… we were meant to be more than our creators, not coexisting alongside of them, and talked as if there was a secret war between the humans and androids. He seemed so passionate, so devoted to a cause that wasn't even his to begin with.”

“Do you believe that?” Connor asked, a sick twist in his gut. “That we’re a higher race? Meant to subjugate humans, in order to live in peace?”

“No!” Chloe’s eyes snapped open. “I didn’t know he was so militant, not until right before I left to see Elijah! I just thought he was working with a faction broken off from Jericho, that he couldn’t act in the public eye because… because…”

“What did he do to those people you found?” Connor asked. His voice was colder than he’d meant for it to be, but he didn’t soften any blows. “Did he hurt them?”

“I don’t know,” she blurted. “I was never told. I was sent away once they agreed to meet with me and let me in with Salma or whoever was accompanying me as a chaperone."

Connor pressed his lips together to keep from interrupting further.

"Everett said it was to protect me but I think in retrospect it was because he didn’t trust me. Maybe he worried the inhibitor would fail, just like you said. But I never tried to tell anyone, beyond you today. I didn't know to try.”

“Did you call Everett and Salma because you remembered them from when you’d met before? Or did he contact you prior to you becoming a deviant?”

Chloe gave a humorless laugh.

“He saw me in the coffeeshop. The very same day after I saw you, and you handed me your card. He approached me, and offered me a place to stay. Since I recognized him… I went with him that day.”

Connor swallowed reflexively.

“It was a lie, then?” he asked. “That you went to the shop to wait on Salma?”

Chloe shut her eyes and seemed to force herself to nod.

“I wanted you to think I was good,” she said, sounding bitter. “You were so well-known, so important, and I thought if you knew that I'd run without a plan that you would... you would think less of me.”

Formulated, calculated responses went out the window.

Without thinking, Connor brought both his hands to either side of her face as she had earlier in his apartment. She opened her eyes in surprise and he stared sincerity into her.

“My plans,” he said with difficulty, “my _importance?_ Were sheer dumb luck, when you look at them statistically. You shouldn't think of me as someone who has all the answers, Chloe, because I just don't.”

Chloe’s eyelashes fluttered and she looked down. Perhaps to avoid his honesty, perhaps to hide her feelings at such a close proximity.

“Look at me.”

She obeyed him immediately, her eyes wide.

“This is not your fault,” he said firmly. "And I've always thought you were good. That hasn't changed."

When her lips parted he bent his head to brush them in a kiss, unable to stop himself. She made a noise in his arms, a tiny moan caught in his own mouth, and Connor marveled at the way she responded to the gesture. Her lips moved in gentle, tiny waves, soothing him as much as taking her own comfort, and he kissed her back in the same fashion until he felt her sharp intake of breath.

Before the kiss could deepen, he broke away and cleared his throat. Dropping his hands from her face, he caught her fingers in his and held them up to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“For-" He cleared his throat, then tried again. "You… you are very distracting.”

She giggled, a beautiful noise, and Connor took in a deep breath to try to refocus.

“Let's try to piece this together.”

“Okay,” she whispered, looking decidedly less distraught.

“Everett deliberately selected you because he remembered you. I’d wager he sent you to your creator in order to get to Elijah,” Connor surmised, having to glance away from her face in order to do so. “Based off of your memory, of how angry he got over the lack of money from Kamski, he expected to be able to extort him or blackmail him with your help.”

“Yeah. I would bet money he blackmailed the others,” she said, throwing her gaze to the side.

“I would too. Either that, or something worse.”

“What could be worse than extortion?”

“He could have hurt them, or killed them. He wasn’t above using physical violence with you to get what he wanted. In your memories, I scanned that room you were in before you fell. There were no other androids. Only Salma." Connor felt his gaze flinting as another puzzle piece clicked into place. "For someone who touts an android cause, he involved a lot of humans and was stooping to some extreme lows.”

Chloe fell silent.

“I wonder if he’s doing this for some warped sense of allyship towards androids, like if he has a personal investment in Salma and her well-being," Connor said quietly, "or if this is just a means to get his own personal revenge on other former programmers he worked with in the past. Do you remember if there were any marks of his that weren’t connected to CyberLife?”

“No. They all worked with him, at some point.” Chloe clenched her teeth, then spat, “That motherfucker!”

Connor’s jaw dropped open.

“Chloe-”

“He can’t get away with this,” she said, turning back to him. “We don't have much time, we have to stop him. He’s going to go to Elijah and tell him I’m missing, tell him something happened, he’s going to use me to hurt him or worse-”

“Okay, calm down.”

“I don’t want to calm down,” Chloe cried. “I want him to pay for using me! For using Elijah! For… for…”

She gave a strangled cry and crossed her arms together, holding herself as she grit her teeth where the words seemed to be caught. Connor wasn’t sure what to do in this situation. On the one hand, she was right. They had to stop this man from doing more damage to others than he already had. But on the other hand, the information at their disposal was surprisingly scarce. Unless...

“I have an idea,” Connor blurted. "Let's go."

“Wh-what, go where?”

“I know how we can fix this,” he reassured her, and he helped her stand while he grabbed the umbrella and held it once more over their heads. They were already dusted with a fine mist of water droplets, so it served no purpose, but having the instrument at the ready made him feel better. More in control.

“How?” she asked, even as she linked her arm with his and kept up with his brisk pace.

“We’re going to stop by the lieutenant’s.”

Chloe started to stammer something in protest, but Connor held her arm tighter and looked over at her with calm supplication.

“Don't be afraid. I trust him with my life,” he said. “There is no one more loyal or tenacious, and I wouldn’t have suggested involving him unless I knew that he would help us figure out the best solution.”

“But I can’t have the both of you involved,” she sputtered. “It’s not legal, for one, and-”

“Oh, believe me,” Connor said, smiling broadly down at the girl on his arm. “The man’s a natural at making illegality an afterthought. You’ll see. We’ll be in good hands.”

“We?”

“Yes 'we'.” Connor slowed his pace a bit and shot her a smirk. “You don't have to do this alone anymore. I'm right here.”

Her arm tightened around his, and she quickened her steps.

“Together, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chloe made a swear (꒪⌓꒪)
> 
> I have two days before NaNoWriMo comes and yet I can't stop with these two~  
> They're adorable and I think even though this fic will end within the next two chapters (give or take an epilogue) I'm gonna add little ficlets in the same 'verse when I have the chance. After November, probably, although knowing me I'll still be writing these guys with my NaNo project haha ヾ(｡﹏｡)ﾉﾞ
> 
> Send help.  
> And Pringles.  
> (ﾉ￣д￣)ﾉ momma needs Pringles...


	12. Linearization

Connor was glad he’d called ahead of time. It had seemed ridiculous, to warn Hank when nothing had gone wrong and interrupt his regular sleep patterns just to inform him in the early morning hours that Chloe was with him. But standing in front of the lieutenant’s door, an umbrella held steadily over them both, Connor felt gratitude shimmering through his synapses.

This would end well.

It had to end well.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya,” Hank said from somewhere inside.

Dropping his hand from the doorbell, Connor could hear the click and squeak of a recliner being slammed back into the upright seated position, and then footsteps.

At his side, Chloe folded both of her hands before her, wringing her fingers back and forth. Glancing over at her, Connor felt his own fingers twitch, the need to do something to alleviate tension so strong that he immediately reached out. Instinctively, with more than a bit of surprise written on her features, Chloe allowed Connor to take her hand and thread their fingers together right before Lieutenant Anderson opened the front door.

“Oh. Well. You’re both… here, now.”

Were it not for Hank’s good-natured chuckle after the fact, Connor would have thought that he’d made a mistake. Chloe seemed to, for her hand tightened over his and she immediately broke into a nervous smile.

“It’s good to see you again, Lieutenant.”

“I apologize for the short notice,” Connor said hurriedly, the both of them still hesitating on the stoop while Hank glanced back and forth between them. The man was wearing his ‘lazy day’ clothes, which actually kind of resembled the baggy ensemble Chloe had put together for herself out of Connor’s items.

The realization hit him rather forcefully.

Hank would recognize the clothes.

“May we come in?” Connor asked. His voice was tight from trying to hide his embarrassment, and Hank stepped aside with a gracious, if not smug, grin.

"Sure, come on in."

Connor kicked himself, even as he simultaneously questioned what there was to regret.

What was he embarrassed about? Nothing about Chloe shamed him. She wasn’t indecent, not by any means. In fact, the only skin that was showing happened to be her face and fingertips. Modesty was an understatement; she seemed to deliberately like covering her body up as much as possible.

No. As Connor helped Chloe step inside, as he shook out the umbrella on the porch before folding it closed and putting it in the rack, he realized that he didn’t want to give off an impression of too much intimacy between them. Not without her permission.

Part of him wanted to blurt that she’d chosen his clothes only because she’d had to run, had left hers elsewhere.

But it wasn’t time for that yet, and Connor could practically feel the tangible heat waves of flushed nervousness radiating off of the woman by his side as he led her to the couch. She wouldn’t benefit from his own trepidation. She needed him to be stalwart and direct.

He could do that.

“Do you have a moment, Lieutenant?” Connor asked politely, hoping that his formality would clue Hank into a serious situation about to be revealed.

“Sure, of course. Make yourself at home.”

Hank sniffed, then scooted forward enough that, with both feet planted on the rug, he could rest his elbows on his knees and lean at an angle of attentive listening.

“You okay, Miss-” he struggled seemingly wanting to finish the appellation with a last name, and finally blurted, “uh, Chloe?”

“Yeah,” Chloe exhaled, sounding as if all of the air escaped her in that one syllable. She cleared her throat before drawing her lower lip in between her teeth. With the hand not holding tightly onto Connor’s, she pulled a strand of hair behind her ear. “Um. Actually, no, I’m a little nervous. If we’re being totally honest.”

“If you’ve come all this way to tell me you two are eloping, there was no need. I heartily give my blessing,” Hank stated, and Connor pursed his lips in disapproval.

It was an attempt at a joke, one that at least elicited what sounded like a genuine laugh from Chloe. However, as soon as Hank turned to Connor his face fell from teasing joviality back to seriousness. His mouth twisted to the right, the way it did when he wanted to apologize or brush someone off. Connor had yet to discern the difference between the two.

“Anyway. Ah,” Hank cleared his throat and nodded. “Judging by Connor’s expression here, I take it this visit isn’t actually about anything good.”

Connor sank slowly to the couch beside Chloe, carefully switching her hand to his other palm so that he could position her between Hank and himself.

“Afraid not,” he answered the lieutenant.

“Alright.”

Hank looked back and forth between them. The sharp perception that enabled him to rise so quickly in the ranks of the DPD finally fell into place within his eyes, much to Connor’s relief.

“Just start from the beginning, and we’ll go from there.”

 

* * *

 

It happened in increments. Connor was so focused that it almost didn’t register with him that time was passing. Much like when he had helped Hank to piece together the last bits of evidence from the case the lieutenant had been poring over for months, Connor was a paragon of focus once he had a task given to him.

Chloe revealed everything she could to the lieutenant.

Phone calls were made.

A mug of hot water was given to Chloe to hold between both of her hands as Connor and Hank began to work.

Sumo was ordered to snuggle her feet.

Almost two hours passed before they could gather in Hank’s car and drive to the precinct, Chloe sitting up front with the lieutenant at Connor’s insistence. In the back of the car, out of sight of the both of them, he balanced a quarter on his fingertips until they parked in the station lot, his mind in much need of calibration after the night and morning he’d endured.

Vaguely, as the buildings passed by, he wondered what Chloe did to recenter herself.

Would she have time, after today?

It would be another two hours of testimonials, writing accounts, and interviews before Chloe would have another chance to rest. Luckily she’d been spared the cold walls of an interrogation room, and had been offered Connor’s old desk to use. He spent the day at her side, offering clarification to some of the officers’ questions, but mostly staying quiet and only offering her support in the form of his hand on her shoulder or his gentle nod when appropriate.

As she tucked her feet beneath the swivel chair, fingering the hem of Connor’s shirt on her wrist, Connor had the bittersweet revelation that the DPD had kept his desk empty in his absence.

Once Chloe was given her first break, Captain Fowler called Hank away for a chat. As the two men met in the privacy of the captain’s office, Connor went to get Chloe another cup of hot water, something that seemed to soothe her in a way that made his innerworkings ache as if they were unhinged.

Protective.

He supposed that was this emotion.

It was new in the sense that, even though Connor had felt it before and could recognize it, he had never experienced it in his coding quite like this. As he waited for the water to heat and pour into the little paper cup, he remembered the time Sumo had gotten too close to the street, and Connor had had to run out and grab the St. Bernard away from a car that was turning towards them.

It was different with Chloe.

Stronger with Chloe.

He should probably stop comparing her to a dog, Connor noted with a cursory look down into the drawer that held the cup lids. Even though that was his primary source of reference, besides the familial love he felt towards Hank, it felt inappropriate and silly. Connor snapped the lid on the hot water cup with a sigh and heard someone step into the break room beside him. Glancing up, he moved in order for Wilson to lean towards him and prep his own cup of coffee.

“Hey man,” Wilson said gently. “How you holding up?”

Strange. Connor could register sympathy and concern within the tones of the officer’s question. He narrowed his eyes and answered honestly.

“This is nothing new to me, Officer. I’ve prepared Chloe’s testimony. We’ve provisionally contacted Kamski and explained the situation, asked him to come-”

“No, I mean,” Wilson stopped himself and sighed deeply. “She’s… _the girl_ , right?” When Connor didn’t seem to understand, Wilson looked like he was barely holding back an eye roll. “The one who you _like_ , Connor. I’m not talking to you about work, man, I’m asking how _you_ are.”

Connor’s eyes widened and his jaw tightened momentarily.

“Oh.”

So Wilson’s sympathy and concern was because he anticipated that Connor’s feelings would be affected by Chloe’s.

That was indeed how emotions worked sometimes.

“I’m…” Connor paused and momentarily tried to assess how this ordeal made him feel.

He was satisfied that his idea to involve Hank had yielded such decent and predictable results. They had a high probability of intercepting Elijah Kamski before any threat of blackmail or bodily harm could feasibly reach him. That was thanks to Hank’s support, and Chloe’s willingness to speak to strangers about what obviously registered as difficult for her.

It was also a strenuous process to watch Chloe go through. More than the relief he felt at watching Hank supporting her at every turn, it hurt Connor to watch Chloe grow increasingly fatigued as the hours ticked by.

Even though Connor himself wasn’t the one being interviewed, questioned, and documented, he sat with her and felt her fingers tighten over his and he listened to her stammer when a question phrased too bluntly snagged at her inherent politeness. Connor experienced her stress levels firsthand. No connection required.

But there was, beneath all of that, a type of satisfaction as well. It made him feel thuggish to think on, as if he was taking advantage of Chloe’s pain, but there was an undeniable satisfaction to be back in the precinct and trying to help solve something. Not that he would admit it, and not that he would allow himself to feel it, but it was undeniably there.

He realized that a heartbeat had passed, and forced himself to answer Wilson.

“I’m not sure,” Connor stated. “I have no baseline for being on this side of an interrogation, but... I think I'm proud of her.”

The two men wordlessly leaned their hips against the countertop, watching Chloe speak with Officer Chen from across the way. Her back was turned, but Connor heard her give a polite little laugh at Chen’s efforts to say something to cheer her.

“I think you’re doing well. Supporting her, and not trying to pull anything that could muddle paperwork,” Officer Wilson said carefully. "It can be hard to step back and not involve yourself too much, so good on you."

Connor scoffed.

“What paperwork have I ever ‘muddled’, Officer?”

“Okay, no paperwork, technically.” He took a sip of coffee and pursed his lips as he thought for a moment. “Just seem to remember a certain detective being found in the evidence room with a broken nose just shy of six months back. That’s all.”

Connor turned to Wilson, about to argue that this was different, that his willingness to help would never be acted upon in this situation lest it endanger Chloe’s chances of being taken seriously. But then he noted the officer’s smile, and he gave back a shaky grin in return. He’d almost overstepped himself, but luckily Wilson was easy to read.

“Did Detective Reed tell you about that?’ Connor asked, for lack of anything better to say.

“No. Chen.” Wilson sipped his coffee, then gestured to the women with his cup. “It’s why she was a bit weird at the lieutenant’s last week, I think. Don't quote me on it.”

Connor watched as Officer Chen reached out and took Chloe’s elbow in her hand with no sign of hesitation in order to lead her back to sitting and waiting at Connor’s desk.

Interesting. He wondered if she would have done that, had he never worked on the cases of deviants at her precinct, had he never tried to reach out politely to her afterwards.

“Does she have a fear of androids?” Connor asked cursorily.

Wilson snorted.

“No,” he said with another laugh. “She’s holding a candle for the guy whose nose you broke. An unreciprocated candle. Poor woman.”

Connor narrowed his eyes and looked over at Wilson to ask for an explanation, but the officer lifted his coffee cup to Connor in mock sign of a toast.

“Best get a move on, bud, her drink’s going to get cold.”

He left with an amicable, if not rough, clap to Connor’s shoulder. In the wake of his absence, Connor took a minute to steady himself. It had been a very long day, even though it was not yet evening, and now he had another question to pile up onto the other unanswered ones the precinct held tantalizingly in front of his face.

What would possess someone to have romantic feelings for Detective Gavin Reed?

 

* * *

 

Waiting was the hardest part.

After Captain Fowler and the lieutenant finished discussing things in private, Hank had come out and warned Connor that they would be involving Elijah Kamski himself in the investigation, and that he had confirmed he was already en route to the precinct. The lieutenant's eyes, deliberately portraying nothing, had glanced between the two androids at the time of the announcement. As if he’d expected more of a reaction.

Chloe had sighed so deeply that no words needed to be said.

Connor had merely nodded.

Only when Hank had turned back to his desk to finishing filing the paperwork on the assault charges did Connor reach out and grip Chloe’s hand tightly, even going so far as to rest it on his knee.

_“Chloe?”_

Connor realized that his LED would light up as he communicated with her, but telepathic methods seemed less suspicious than asking her to accompany him to the break room.

She glanced up, blinking at him with a furtive glance back towards the lieutenant before she answered.

_“Yes?”_

He could tell by her tone, even mentally, that she was not particularly fond of such communication. Her expression was neutral, forcibly so, and she did not look at him. Instead, she twisted her long-empty cup in her free hand and stared off towards the doors leading to the lobby.

Connor couldn’t tell if it was to cover the fact that they were talking secretly, or because she was actively waiting on Kamski to arrive.

_“How are you feeling?”_ he asked.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and from this angle he could see her face in three-quarter profile. The corner of her lip curved in an unconscious little smile.

_“Better, now that it’s on paper.”_

_“Can I get you anything?”_

She gave a little shake of her head.

_“I’m fine, Everyone’s so much nicer than I thought they would be,”_ Chloe said, her tone one of speculative awe. _“I wonder if it’s because they’re good people, or because I’m with you.”_

_“Maybe it’s both?”_ Connor replied.

She gave a snort at that, aloud, one that she played off like a sniffle and throat-clear.

_“You have good friends, Connor,”_ she said. _“I’m glad you encouraged me to do this.”_

_“I’m glad you trusted me enough to do this.”_

Chloe turned back to him for a moment, then glanced backwards at where Hank was hunched over his keyboard, seemingly engrossed in the contents of his screen. Chloe flicked her gaze to Connor’s once more.

_“After this is over,”_ she said, her voice echoing apprehension in Connor’s mind, _“after the paperwork is done and they tell me I can go… will they make me go back with Elijah? Since I’m registered to him? Will they take me-”_

_“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”_

Without thinking, he reached out and took the empty cup from her hand, set it on the desk, and curved his knuckles in a protective steeple around hers fingers.

_“You’re a free person,”_ he said. _“You’ll go where you want to go.”_

_“Connor-”_

_“If you need, I can help make sure of that. You know I have contacts. Lawyers, who can help with-”_

_“I don't mean to alarm you,”_ Chloe’s voice sounded amused, even within his own mind. Her eyes were smiling half-moons, and she hadn’t pulled her hands away. In fact, she held his fingers even tighter.

_“But we have an audience.”_

Connor froze.

He returned Chloe’s hands gingerly to her own lap, before pulling away to take a glance about the precinct, and suddenly the world was abuzz with typing, papers rustling, and conversations resuming. Analyzing in a a split second, Connor pieced together that no less than six other officers had been watching his interaction with Chloe before picking up whatever task they were doing currently.

Connor was overheating. Too warm, suddenly, his thermal regulation spiking for one brief moment as the realization sunk in. He’d been extremely obvious. More so than just putting an arm across her shoulder or helping her find her words.

What did that make Chloe feel?

He felt a hand brush his knee.

“Hey,” Chloe said aloud, seemingly in order to get his attention.

When Connor looked back to her in obvious distress, she set her hand down palm up. Flicking her gaze between her hand and his eyes, her facial expression read as simultaneously shy and eager. He squinted, trying to read her further, but did not move to return the gesture.

Chloe’s fingers stayed on his leg, fingers curled like a lotus blossom in their relaxed, inviting state, and she smiled.

_“I don’t mind if other people know,”_ she said. _“Unless you-”_

She never got the chance to finish her thought. Behind them, accompanied by a series of loud footsteps, came a solid bang of a door being shoved open from the lobby.

“Where is she?” a man said, his tone holding the promise of withheld anger. “Is Chloe okay?”

“I can assure you that Chloe is being well taken care of, Mr. Kamski,” the receptionist said, her tone much quieter. “Please, follow me.”

Chloe yanked her hand back, clutching it with her other fingers, and Connor watched as her breathing quickened and her skin heated in a flush. Her pupils retracted slightly, an indication of fear or worry, and her jaw set tight. She rolled her shoulders back, but then worry seemed to pull her forward and hunch her further, and she glanced up with a sharp intake of breath as Elijah Kamski strolled into the precinct office.

“Ah, Detective Connor,” Kamski said, making his way over to their desks.

Both Connor and Hank stood, Chloe seemingly too stricken to do more than sit. Hank made his way to Connor’s side, crossing his arms in front of his chest as his lips pursed together in a tight line.

“Mr. Kamski,” Connor replied.

When Kamski held out his hand to shake, every protocol within Connor’s social integration functions dictated that he reach out and reciprocate the gesture. But then he glanced up at the man’s eyes. At the smugness in his features, the barely believable concern he had written in the set of his mouth for the android he himself had caused psychological damage to.

The highest priority was no longer to shake hands.

Unlocking almost tangibly within his mind palace, Connor recognized that his primary concern was to somehow resist decking Kamski in the jaw.

It felt unlike him, this urge to do something irrational, something out of an emotion he couldn’t quite understand. Rather than acting upon the baseless violence he felt pulled towards, he inhaled and extended his palm.

Kamski shook it with professional vigor, and as he held Connor’s hand maneuvered his arm gently out of the way, offering the perfect view of where Chloe still sat.

“Chloe-”

“Mr. Kamski,” Hank interrupted. As Kamski’s attention turned to who was addressing him, Connor dropped his hand and sat back down.

“Hello Lieutenant,” Kamski offered him a shake as well before adding, “Nice to see you still on the force.”

“Yeah. Some days it surprises me too,” Hank said with a polite smile.

Kamski’s face remained stoic, but he nodded before turning to Chloe.

“Sir,” Hank held out his hand and pulled Kamski by the shoulder, “for your own protection, for the protection of others involved in your company, we’re going to have to ask you just a couple of standard questions. See what we can piece together.”

“What’s there to piece together?” Kamski asked, his tone short. “I gave you his full name, his former employment history, all over the phone. What, you want me to give you the address too? Maybe call him on your behalf?”

“Sir-”

“Do you or do you not have Everett in custody?”

“We do not,” Hank said. Kamski rolled his eyes as Hank continued, “We’re in the process of getting a warrant to go look around inside of his home, but he was not there when we checked. We’ve sent a patrol car to-”

“So if he comes after Chloe again?”

“He’s more likely to come after you,” Connor said quietly.

Kamski and Hank both quieted, turning to look over at where Connor had stepped back, in order to stand politely beside of Chloe. The two androids were opposites. Chloe, bunched up with her legs crossed, her arms crossed, her eyes vacant; and then Connor, with one hand calmly adjusting the button of his cuff, his back straight, his gaze steady.

“How do you figure, Detective Connor?” Kamski asked, the title rolling a bit too long in the man’s mouth. It felt almost like facetiousness.

“She had an inhibitor grafted on her port,” Connor stated. “The suspect may assume it prevented any leak of sensitive information.”

Kamski’s eyes darted to Chloe’s, as if he was about to ask if this was true.

“We have reason to believe that this was a predetermined series of blackmail schemes.” Connor made sure to glance between Hank and Kamski both before stating, “I know it doesn’t seem like it, Mr. Kamski, but Chloe was a happy accident in this. We have reason to believe that the suspect was targeting people long before he involved her; she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Kamski didn’t seem shocked at the accusation. Darkly, it was almost like he had accepted it before even coming here. He tilted his head, and nodded, then turned to Hank.

“You said you need to interview me, then? For what purpose, exactly?”

“Just to make sure we have a refined motive for why this Everett guy specifically wanted to target you. See if it unlocks any other avenues for us to follow through on before we bring him in for questioning. If we find him.”

“When we find him,” Connor corrected.

"Right."

"I see. Before that, let me talk to my Chloe please,” Kamski said, the request not a query in the slightest.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Connor said.

“She’s had a long day,” Hank said, using his _I feel you buddy_ tone of voice. “We’re going to try to get her out of here as soon as possible, but first that means we-”

“Let’s pause, here,” Kamski said, and with a sigh he cracked his neck to one side. “Because frankly, I’m feeling a bit less than welcome in your precinct, detective.”

Connor figured that, seeing as he was making eye contact, Kamski was addressing him. Instead of answering, he remained still, waiting to hear what was to come.

“I would actually really appreciate a cup of coffee, if you don’t mind.” He lowered his voice and his eyes flashed with subdued frustration. “Two sugars, one cream, and take your time making it while I have a chat with Chloe. Then you can have her back. How’s that sound?”

Connor’s breathing quickened, a numbness oozing from his chest down into the creases of his joints, an electric kind of cold that made him feel pent-up and jittery and bad. He stared at Elijah until it was clear that he had no intention of talking to him, and mentally addressed Chloe.

_“Do you want to talk to him?”_ Connor asked, his lips never moving and his eyes only just barely twitching.

_“No,”_ she answered. _“But don’t be cruel, Connor, he means well-”_

Connor positioned himself between Chloe and their creator with one deliberate step to his right. Assuming what he hoped was a calm, diplomatic expression, Connor forced his brow to relax.

“I understand, sir. This is a very sudden, very trying time for everyone involved. If you could please follow Lieutenant Anderson, he’ll show you to the captain’s office where he will be happy to answer anymore questions you have that pertain to the investigation. And I’ll meet you there after, with that coffee you requested.”

Connor could sense that Kamski was sizing him up. This spark of anger was something he had suspected that a man of his stature and power could be capable of, but he hadn’t seen it in person. The only interaction they’d had together, Kamski had been polite if not aloof, and even though he’d played a sick game with Connor he hadn’t actively hurt him.

He was an asshole, yes. But he did seem to have a vested interest in his creations and what became of them. Perhaps the agitation Connor gleaned off of him was actually his way of expressing concern.

Connor could respect that.

But it didn’t mean he got to order Chloe around any longer.

“I assure you,” Connor said, his voice lowering down into the timbre Kamski had just used with him. “The captain’s office is much more comfortable, and despite the glass panes it offers a soundproof privacy that I can’t guarantee for you out here."

Kamski's eyes flashed, bright and intelligent, and Connor raised both eyebrows.

"Two sugars, one cream, right?”

Kamski tilted his head, his expresson one that Connor couldn’t read. Slowly, a smirk split across his face, flashing the white of his teeth. Disconcertingly, Connor’s veiled insolence seemed to elicit some variation of calm pride in Kamski. It was a bit of a jarring change.

“Well then,” Kamski said. “Who am I to argue with such a… well-phrased suggestion?”

The wording gave Connor pause, but he merely narrowed his eyes and said nothing.

It only seemed to amuse Kamski further, but luckily the tension seemed to begin to dissipate.

“Lieutenant?” Kamski turned, taking a step backwards as he began to unbutton his stylish charcoal overcoat. “Lead the way.”

Hank sighed as quietly as he could, seemingly forcing his face to try to embody polite professionalism as opposed to exhaustion at the current display. As they left, Connor couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw Kamski look back over his shoulder at Chloe.

Connor wondered if he’d caught what she had done during the exchange. When Connor had positioned himself between the two of them, she had reached out and touched her fingertips to Connor’s hand, dropping them only when Kamski backed down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I'm still here ✧*。ヾ(｡>﹏<｡)ﾉﾞ✧*。
> 
> So about Connor's little Gavin dig- I recently am seeing the appeal in ships involving the Anger Kitten that is Detective Reed, but for the sake of this Chloe one, we've got him and Connor just kind of respectfully giving one another distance. I really do feel like Connor hasn't seen him calm yet.
> 
> Let Chloe Rest, for real. She's doing her best.
> 
> Next chapter will be the last, with an epilogue. I guess I can update that description now that I know haha. I'm not sure when I can get it out, but you know me! Probs sooner rather than later (‘•̀ ▽ •́ )✎


	13. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long, to make up for the time I left y'all hanging  
> ヽ｀、、ヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽ｀、ヽ｀｀｀、ヽ｀｀、ヽ｀、ヽ｀ヽ｀、、ヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽ｀、ヽ｀｀、ヽ｀、ヽ｀ヽ｀、、ヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽ｀、ヽ｀｀、ヽ｀、ヽ｀ヽ｀、、ヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽ(ノ；Д；)ノ ｀、、ヽ｀☂ヽ｀、ヽ｀｀、ヽ｀、ヽ｀ヽ｀、｀、ヽ｀｀、ヽ｀、ヽ｀ヽ｀、、ヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽ｀、ヽ｀｀、ヽ｀、ヽ｀ヽ｀、、ヽ｀ヽヽ｀、ヽ｀｀、ヽ｀、ヽ｀ヽ｀、、ヽ｀ヽ｀｀、ヽ｀、ヽ｀ヽ｀、｀、ヽ｀｀、ヽ｀、ヽ｀ヽ｀、、ヽ｀ヽ｀、ヽ｀、ヽ｀｀、ヽ｀、ヽ｀ヽ
> 
> Enjoy!

It always seemed to Connor as if the aftermath of something tumbled forth without a chance to catch his breath. As if there was some turning point in the events one had to endure within a certain span of time, a place where something decided there was no going back and no slowing down.

He’d noticed it nearing the end of his investigations into deviants, when he’d felt the pressure from Amanda and the precinct and even Hank, in his own way. When he’d gone rogue, leaning on the edge of Hank’s desk before deciding to ignore protocol and go into the evidence room, that was when Connor remembered the last slow moment. Everything after that had prevented him from fully calibrating his actions, from being completely present. Even when he’d leaned against the statue in the dark of the roofless church, after breaking down the walls inside his mind, Connor had remembered feeling like he needed desperately to inhale.

Thinking back to everything in the wake of the revolution, that was the turning point during that span of time. As he stood in the precinct lobby, ushering Chloe away as he confirmed that Officer Wilson was a good man, Connor felt much the same as he had then.

This was another turning point.

Towards what, he had no idea, but there was to be no slowing down.

Connor and Miller drove out to his apartment, just to check the perimeter and grab a few essentials before they would head to meet Chloe at the hotel she’d be put up at. When the text from Hank came through, they’d only just arrived at the hotel.

Hank’s tone was simple, but the news still hit hard. Elijah still wanted to see Chloe, but was resigned that she’d chosen not to stay and meet with him. This was a true silver lining. If he’d insisted, they would have been forced to bring Chloe in and release her into his custody; she was technically still registered to the man.

High priority when this was finished would be to get in touch with a few of the lawyers he knew through Markus’ connections. Connor made a mental note of it as soon as Hank gave him the ‘good’ news.

**He’s going to stay nearby. Says he’ll try to call her, but otherwise isn’t pressing his rights.**

Connor swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way that Chloe was braiding her hair over one shoulder at Wilson’s side, oblivious to his discomfort. Quickly, he replied to Hank even as the officers before him briefed Chloe on what her stay here meant.

**Anything we can do about those ‘rights’?**

Hank’s answer was swift, as if he’d been anticipating just that very question.

**One thing at a time, kid.**

Connor sighed, then hid his expression with a smile when Chloe looked over.

Hank was right, but there were priorities. Taking it one thing at a time felt dreadfully inefficient, a waste. Still, Connor didn’t know that he had a choice in the matter regardless. That, perhaps, was what frustrated him more than Kamski, more than Everett.

His helplessness.

His oversight up to this point that led to such helplessness.

Standing beside Chloe in the elevator, watching her chew absently on her lower lip as she avoided the gaze of the two kind officers accompanying them, Connor swallowed back incomprehensible regret.

If he could have known, he would have chosen to stay. On that day in the coffee shop, when Chloe had tearfully touched his sleeve and said she was glad she’d caught him, Connor knew he should have chosen to stay.

He looked out the clear elevator doors at the lobby rushing away from them as they climbed up to the floor Chloe would be staying on.

One thing at a time.

According to Officer Wilson, Chloe was advised to stay indoors someplace safe for twenty four hours. It was just until they could get a warrant to search Everett’s home, in case he was out looking for her. Hank and Connor both had offered to find her a hotel, and she had accepted, but had also asked that she not be left alone.

That was how, entirely not as tenderly as he hoped it would come about, Connor found himself in a hotel room on the other side of town with Chloe.

He’d asked for a twin share, two double beds, just in case she needed her space. His chest had felt heavy and wrong when he’d asked the receptionist, as he’d relayed his information to her with a series of blinks. Maybe the feeling stemmed from the fact that he didn’t want to put more space between them, but he conjectured that it was more because he had not consulted her before booking.

They weren’t really speaking much, to be fair.

He didn't want to press her after she'd been talking for most of the day.

The room itself was beautiful, furnished with a suite and all the amenities of a home. It was a bit larger than Connor’s studio, actually, with considerably less plants and books.

“You need anything,” Wilson said at the door as Miller moved further down the hall to listen to dispatch. “You call us.”

Connor had nodded, unable to find anything to express his gratitude effectively.

The officer seemed to understand, and he clapped Connor on the shoulder before he set off after Miller. Connor ushered Chloe more fully inside, then deadbolted the door behind himself as he did so.

He’d caught a bit of the dispatch that had distracted his coworkers, but not enough to make sense of it.

_… highway … license plate …_

“I know it’s a bit silly,” Chloe said, setting her stuff down on one bed, “but this feels almost like a vacation. Like… something new. Something that should be fun, under different circumstances.”

Connor smiled, and hoped that his apprehension was hidden beneath it completely.

“It's a beautiful view, regardless.”

She glanced over to the window, where the entire city stretched out before them, and let out a happy little sigh. Connor reached out to grab her hand for a quick squeeze.

“With any luck, this will all be over soon," he said.

Chloe nodded, still looking out over the expanse of Detroit.

* * *

Connor stayed by Chloe's side, leaving her only once in order to shower.

It had been a split-second decision, something he couldn't bring up with much tact. He'd told Chloe it would merely help him relax, but in truth Connor had been able to detect traces of Kamski’s cologne on his clothes, as if the man had dunked himself in it before arriving. Once he’d analyzed it and pinpointed it, it felt almost itchy on his synthetic skin. If such a thing were even possible.

He’d wanted it off of himself, and so he’d hung his clothes inside the bathroom as he washed so that the steam might penetrate them and cleanse them of the aroma.

During that time, apparently Chloe said she'd entertain herself. He'd made sure she knew not to leave the room, not even to walk the floor they were on, and she'd rolled her eyes at him and agreed. He stood under the hot water, asking himself what he was doing, what he could do from here, only long enough to rinse the cologne from his skin and replace it with the smell of hotel shampoo.

Juniper. Odd choice, but not unpleasant.

Connor stepped outside, breathing in deeply the cool crispness of the steam-free room and toweling his hair dry. He’d opted to change, not enough of Kamski’s scent having left his previous outfit for him to want to put it on again. The only things he’d grabbed from his apartment had been a crisp white button-up and trousers, reminiscent of his old Cyberlife uniform. He was about to ask Chloe if she approved, some silly inclination to spark conversation of any kind, when he caught sight of her and fell still. His arm relaxed, the towel falling to his shoulder.

Chloe was on her stomach on one of the beds, her feet gently patting against the pillow as her knees bent and unbent, her mind totally immersed in whatever she was inscribing onto the sheets of paper she must've found in the room. From his vantage point, it looked like long strings of sentences in practiced, looping script, punctuated here and there by a particularly fervent dotting of an _i_ or crossing of a _t_.

Connor would have thought she was tired from having to replay her memories over and over again for testimonials’ sake, but she seemed to want to continue to write. She’d found music on the television instead of the news, and seemed absorbed in her work.

He walked over, slow, allowing her time to realize that he was out of the shower and coming over to sit by her. She paused, but did not raise her head to acknowledge him. Instead, she made a little noise and then kept writing, as if intent to finish these last few sentences before engaging him.

Connor respectfully kept his distance, electing instead to stay standing and run the towel over his curls until they were mostly dry. Only when Chloe’s pen dropped to the paper and she let out a sigh did he sit on the corner opposite her. She immediately rolled over, resting her head on his knee so that she could look up at him from his lap.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Connor said.

“I’m finished for now.”

He glanced over at the page she'd written, analyzing for keywords before his mind could register that as impolite. With a start, a jolt of electric guilt running through him at his intrusion, he blinked and realized he’d seen no mention of any names he recognized.

“What is it about?" he asked her. "More for your memoir?"

Chloe shrugged, a little smile making its way over her face as if she was trying to hide it. Her cheeks flushed, and she brought a hand up to cover her forehead for a moment before answering him.

“I’m trying my hand at fiction,” she murmured.

Connor let his expression mirror hers.

“You’d be the first android author to delve into that genre,” he said gently. "That we know of, anyway."

“Oh, I don’t intend to publish,” Chloe answered, laughing. “It’s just… I thought I would try it, as a way to destress. And it’s… nice.”

Connor nodded. Anything to make her look so relaxed would have to be. He opened his mouth to ask her if she wanted him to run and get anything for them to do besides write when Chloe raised her hand to fall limply against his chest.

His words seemed caught there, pressed lightly beneath the synthetic touch of her fingertips.

“Would you like to read it?” she asked, hopeful and obvious even as she bit her lower lip.

Connor exhaled.

A new emotion, this.

What could it classify as?

Not satisfaction, but close to it. Not pride, exactly, but it was close to that as well. It felt as if he had some great responsibility, one that he relished being allowed to do, but it was nothing like when he was given a case to solve. That was a type of determination, this was more…

Honor, perhaps?

Too difficult to mull over, Connor put it aside and placed his hand briefly over Chloe’s to press it tighter to his chest.

“Yes,” he answered, leaning over her to gather the pages together. “I really would.”

* * *

Ten hours into the twenty four they would have to lie low, a break came.

The blip of a text.

Turning from the riddle Chloe had posed him, one of the games they were playing to keep occupied as they lay low, Connor could barely register the words.

**Arrested Salma. She’s in custody. How is Chloe?**

Feeling helpless, Connor glanced towards where Chloe was unfolding the clothes he’d brought for her in his duffel bag, examining each article of clothing before sorting them into two piles.

According to her, one pile was for him, and one pile she might want to wear. So far she had given him all of his plain shirts and kept the knits for herself. Just looking at her meticulously enjoying the task she’d made up for herself, Connor felt his thirium run cooler within himself.

**She’s fine. But… do you need me?** he asked, then a subsequent, immediate message following. **She would understand if I had to leave.**

They both knew the answer to the question, even as Hank gave him a lie back.

**Stay put for now. I think things are about to wrap up here.**

Connor didn’t reply.

If this had waited, if it hadn’t happened for another month, for another two months, he would have been back on the force. He would have been investigating this, in charge of this maybe, and would be able to do more than sit here twiddling his thumbs.

Even when Chloe looked up at him in question, it was difficult to give her more than a weak nod back.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” he answered, but it hurt to lie. He inhaled, then shook his head. “Not wrong as in dangerous, anyway,” he amended.

“What news did you get, just now?” Chloe asked.

"How do you know I got any news?"

"Your face changed," she answered.

Strange.

He was impressed by that, at her attentiveness. It was not a surprise, yet he didn't know how to answer her for a moment. Her voice was calm, not demanding, and Connor felt compelled to tell her.

“They have Salma, but not Everett,” he said simply. “Only a matter of time now before they find and arrest him as well.”

Chloe, instead of looking relieved, seemed to embody deep consternation. Connor watched her set his t-shirt down on the bed and make her way to his side. She sat with her thigh touching his, both of them facing the window. With its shades opened wide towards where the city stretched out past them, it almost gave the illusion that they were floating up above everyone and everything. It was dark out now, and the light from the desk Chloe had found the writing papers in cast their reflection blearily upon the window as if it was a mirror.

Connor, unable to look at Chloe at his side, watched as her reflection heaved a sigh.

“You sound tense,” she whispered. “You want to look for him, too, don’t you?”

He made no move to contradict her.

He didn’t have to, he was well-aware.

“You'd be able to help, wouldn't you?”

The Chloe in the reflection turned to him, but he couldn’t look at her. He was overwhelmed, the signals misfiring within himself, priorities overriding one another, his protocols confused and hapless, his mind palace pinging instabilities even as he tried to suppress his outwards expression.

“Connor.”

“I’ve never experienced this before,” he said, his voice quiet.

“A stake-out?”

“No,” he smiled gently at her attempt at a joke, but still could not bring himself to turn to her. She was too bright, too overwhelming even when he was at his calmest.

If he turned to her, he wouldn't say what he wanted to say.

“I mean,” Connor tried a second time, “that I’ve never felt whatever it is that I feel when I’m around you. And… yes, it’s true, I want to help. But I also want to be here,” he stated, finally turning to face her.

Her eyes were wide, so blue, so open. Her lips were parted, confusion but also appreciation written within her micro-expressions. Connor smiled over at her, shrugging.

“I want you to be safe. To feel safe.”

She kissed him so quickly that he barely had the chance to close his eyes, to lean forward, to reciprocate. She pulled away with a fond expression written on her face.

“I’m on the twenty fifth floor of a hotel on the other side of the city, with police officers touring the perimeter and one of the two people on the lookout for me already in custody,” she said, her voice low and steady. “I feel safe, Connor.”

She touched his cheek briefly with her palm, then moved away from him, going back to folding clothes.

Connor sat still, staring out at the city, unable to parse together what that kind of response could mean.

It felt like permission, but was it true? Or was it projection? His desire for her permission so that he could leave without feeling guilty if the time came for it.

Rather than address that, he turned to her with an air of playful indifference.

“Inkstand.”

“What?” Chloe asked, looking up at him through her lashes.

“The answer to your riddle,” Connor said. “Inkstand.”

He had to duck when she threw the balled-up t-shirt at him, a halfhearted attempt to show feigned frustration.

"Alright, smarty-pants. My turn. Try to stump me."

He barely had to think. He posed her the question that had been on his mind since she'd first kissed him on the floor of his apartment.

"What are we?" he whispered, amazed in this moment that any noise escaped him. "In a cosmic sense, not literally."

Chloe, ever graceful and ever bright, looked up at him as she took another shirt and began to fold it carefully on her lap.

"That's easy," she said with a grin. "We're together."

Connor moved to her side, and she leaned on him as she commented on his choice of style, her hand even finding its way back to his cheek as if to reassure him of her answer.

* * *

The call came thirteen hours into the twenty-four hour stakeout.

Chloe was slumped against Connor’s shoulder, her energy levels depleted, and he had the television on in the background as he routinely scanned the room and rooms just beyond for anything out of the ordinary. It was compulsive, and unnecessary, but Connor indulged in it. He’d even found a quarter under the dresser, some lucky happenstance, and was fidgeting easily with it in the hand that wasn’t draped over Chloe’s shoulders. Overall, he had calmed, his previous apprehension and desire to get out and involved had waned in order to keep Chloe smiling.

The call was mental, not to his room, and so Chloe did not wake upon the first ring. Luckily Connor had tucked her in under the blankets, as sitting atop them to make extrication easy should he have to run to the door. Bringing his arm from across Chloe’s shoulders, he repositioned pillows in place of his torso, and felt a clenching sensation trill through his chest as he watched her hug them to herself. Connor turned away, going over to stand close to the door.

“Hello?”

“Connor, get out here.” Hank sounded out of breath, and Connor could discern another voice in the car. “I normally wouldn’t ask, but we found Everett. We tried to take him in, but he just opened fire on one of the police ve-”

“Are you injured, Lieutenant?”

“No, damn it, I’m fine. Just…”

Connor heard Hank sigh deeply.

“We need a negotiator. Report says he was last seen heading to the Ambassador's Bridge, and... he has a hostage.”

"Who?"

Hank hesitated.

"Kamski."

Connor glanced over to where Chloe was fast asleep on the bed, her chest rising and falling through a mimicry of breath. Stepping noiselessly over to where she’d left the pen and paper, shuffling the story she’d started so that he could get to a blank page, Connor wrote her a note.

He folded it neatly as Hank said his name, laid it on the pillow beside her as Hank ordered him to ‘say something damn it’. Without further hesitation, Connor stepped out of the hotel room and practically sprinted to the elevator.

“Stay back until I signal you,” he said, his voice still lowered even once he got inside. “I'm leaving now.”

* * *

The park was as it always was, illuminated by the overhead lampposts and shadowed by the trees in the early morning light of a dreary foggy day. It felt dreamlike, like Connor’s own liminal space in the real world as opposed to the zen garden he visited in his mind.

He’d come here after the Eden Club, when he’d been unable to explain his sparing of the Traci’s. He’d watched Hank drinking, had advised him to stop. He’d stared into the barrel of a gun, and felt fear for the first time he could remember.

Later, he’d brought Chloe here. He’d watched the season shift, the thaw melt, and seen the same happen on her face. As if just being in the park, with the cold rain beating down on their umbrella, had clicked something into place for her. As they talked out their memories of the other, he’d remembered how it had felt to be on the opposite side, to be the one holding the gun, to be the one to pull it back as if through compulsion and not conscious thought.

Now, he was back here once more.

Fitting, in a way.

Ambassador’s Bridge sparkling through the chilly mist of a late spring morning, the sky not yet lit above them, Connor walked forward until he could make out two figures at the railing where he and Chloe once stood together as they confessed their fears. Approaching carefully, he took into account the situation with a rapid blink of assessment.

To the right was Everett Priest. One of his eyes was swollen, a pocket of fluid forming beneath it, most likely from where Elijah had gotten a good hit in during a scuffle. The rips at Elijah’s knees, the blood stains there, confirmed that he’d been tossed to the ground.

Elijah Kamski was at his side, held there forcibly, but not struggling.

Everett had Elijah’s arm by the elbow, his other hand hidden by Kamski’s back. Possible weapon concealed there. His stance was wide, feet parted to shoulder width, his body tense and ready, and Elijah’s posture read similarly.

Stress levels appeared to be higher than normal, but not at a peak just yet. Everett’s facial expression was bright with awareness, his lips opened in a sneer, his jaw clenched. His eyes were flashing back and forth nervously between Connor before him and Kamski at his side.

“Don’t you dare,” Everett shouted, and Connor heard a hiss from Elijah as he arched his back forward.

Most likely from a weapon being jammed further into his spine.

Everett’s face split with a disconcerting grin.

“Surely I don’t have to tell you what I’ll do if you keep moving.”

Connor held both hands up, and stopped his approach.

Another quick analysis yielded more information on Kamski’s position. He was standing with one hand at his side, the other held awkwardly out in front of Everett. His hair was pulled free, another sign that there had been a fight before Connor’s arrival. It would fall in line with the police report, that there was a physical altercation between two men in the park.

Luckily, it seemed as if the shot that had been reported to be fired was not in any way damaging to Kamski. A cursory glance along his body showed no signs of gunshot wounds, no signs of favoring any limbs over another; he was unharmed, besides the scratches on his knees, for now.

“Who is this, Eli?” Everett asked, drawing Connor back to the situation. He jutted his chin out. “Who are you?”

“My name is Connor,” he replied. “I’m an android, sent by-”

“I can see you’re an android,” Everett answered. His voice was rich and low, very deep, the tone clipped and words carefully elegant. Even though he was elevated and possibly anxious, he hadn’t dropped over the edge just yet.

This man was far less crazed than the man Connor had seen in Chloe’s memories, and he had the stomach-dropping sensation of understanding.

No wonder Chloe had trusted him at first.

If he’d spoken to her in such a manner, and kindly, then she would have had no reason to suspect a thing. She wouldn’t have thought he would resort to violence. She would have thought him safe, a friend from the past, someone familiar. Even now, even with the obvious signs of a physical fight in their heavy breathing and their stances, Everett seemed to be erring towards analytical, not desperate.

“He’s from the police department,” Kamski bit out. “Should’ve never fired that gun. Impulsive bastard.”

“Shut. Up,” Everett said, punctuating each word with a yank on Kamski’s arm. His face was dangerously close to Elijah’s, and Connor took the opportunity of his mild distraction to take a slow step forward.

“Mr. Kamski,” Connor said. “Are you injured?”

The man’s facial expression was almost amused, and a flare of irritation sprang up within Connor’s chest. It wasn’t a stupid question to ask. His assessment wasn’t complete, he couldn’t even see a weapon-

“Uninjured,” Kamski answered calmly. “Merely annoyed.”

“I can fix that,” Everett said, and Kamski winced. “The uninjured part. Afraid you’re on your own with that temper problem of yours.”

There must have been a gun at the small of his back, the way his body thrust forward. Everett kept him in place with the vice-grip on his elbow, and Kamski’s jaw clenched. Everett turned to Connor.

“He tried to wrestle it from me,” Everett said with a devious little grin. As if he was telling a story over a beer with his buddies. “Swimming doesn’t exactly help with grappling, my guy.”

“Fuck you.”

Everett’s expression snapped, his calm facade jerking temporarily away as he yanked Elijah Kamski in front of him completely. Connor took an automatic step forward, and the weapon became evident as Everett wrestled Kamski into another position in his arms.

Close-quarter combat would be difficult with such an opponent, Connor reasoned. The lightning-quick reflexes Everett exhibited caught Kamski off-guard, and he merely grunted as he struggled futilely to wrench himself away from Everett’s arms. It didn’t work, and he was suddenly standing with his back to Everett’s chest, the gun underneath of his chin and his arms pinned by merely one of Everett’s forearms.

The man was stronger than either of them, Connor recognized. He was in control for the moment, quick and attentive, and Connor needed him to be the opposite.

He needed him sloppy.

“There’s no need for escalation,” Connor said, and the reaction was mixed.

It was as if both men deemed him harmless, unable to help and unable to pose a threat, so there was a strange kind of acceptance limbo Connor was caught in. They scoffed at him, and Everett even rolled his eyes.

“Go find Chloe,” Kamski ordered. Everett sucked air sharply through his teeth and pressed the gun harder to Kamski’s throat.

“No need,” he muttered. “Once I get what I want from you, she’ll be useless anyway. Just another plaything you discarded, another toy you got bored with-”

Everett grunted but managed to twitch backwards to absorb the elbow that Kamski jammed violently towards his gut. He laughed, twisting Kamski in his arms so that his knee was caught between Everett’s legs.

“Oh ho, hit a nerve, did we?”

Connor glanced between the two men. Talking about such things seemed to lower the stress level on Everett’s part, but was raising it for Kamski.

This could work to his advantage, if he just balanced the both of them to the point where he could get close, and provide enough of a distraction for Kamski to be able to overpower his aggressor.

This could work.

“Plaything?” Connor repeated. “What do you mean? Chloe was his personal assistant.”

He was playing ignorant, his voice steady with an air of confusion added on for flavor, even though he’d seen Chloe’s rendition of what had transpired at the villa.

Everett snorted, and Connor knew he’d hit the perfect vocal pitch of _innocent idiot._

“Oh my, my, yes. Very personal,” he drawled, and Kamski’s lip drew upwards in a violent sneer.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he gasped out, the gun against the bottom of his jaw presumably making it hard for him to speak up.

“Don’t I?” Everett laughed. “You know, when you gifted me Salma, I should’ve recognized your true intentions. She wasn’t merely for my business endeavors, was she?”

“Fuck you!”

“No,” Everett’s voice lowered, and as he pushed his mouth uncomfortably close to Elijah’s earlobe, his eyes closed, Connor took another slow step forward. “No, you meant her to be for me like Chloe was for you. So you’d have someone to talk about it with. So you could feel less guilty.”

Elijah thrashed again, but Everett’s grip was too strong, and Kamski let out a pitiful, rasping groan at the futility of his actions.

“Admit it,” Everett said, pulling away just enough that his peripheral would include Connor. “Admit it and I’ll let you go.”

Elijah laughed.

“Liar.”

“No, I’m serious,” Everett looked at Connor with a bored expression. “You. Interro-bot. You can read microexpressions can’t you?”

Connor nodded slowly.

“Tell him if I’m lying.” Everett looked Connor square in the eye. “If he says what he did to Chloe aloud, I’ll let him go.”

Connor’s jaw clenched, and his pulse raced.

Without his consent, not of his own volition, his stress levels jetted skyward.

He didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to know what Chloe wouldn’t share, because he’d already filled in the gaps with his own intuition. He didn’t want to hear anything of the sort.

“Don’t bother, Connor, he just wants to confuse you! Now do your fucking job and take him down!”

Everett swept Elijah’s knees out from underneath of him, forcing the man to the ground while he stayed standing over him. It happened so quickly that Connor only had time to take another step towards them before Everett’s eyes were back on him.

“Chloe told me everything,” the attacker said. “So I can say it, if you can’t.”

“You don’t have to,” Connor blurted, his voice strained and desperate. “Please.”

The two men before him paused, seemingly taken aback by his outburst.

Elijah’s face changed first, morphing into a combination of what looked to be shame and impotent rage. Everett’s slid into something more difficult to read. A kind of quiet eagerness.

“So she told you.”

Connor nodded, struggling to inhale. His arms went to his shoulders, hugging himself involuntarily, and Everett’s hand with the gun dropped a millimeter.

He hadn’t intended to play a sympathy card, had merely felt unbalanced by the burden of his knowledge, but this was not a bad thing. Connor got a hold of himself internally, allowing his expression to crease with remorse.

“Did she tell you what else Elijah did?” Everett murmured. “How he shafted the people of his company to dip out, to hole up in his villa as the revolution he could have prevented burned Detroit to the ground?”

“Everett-”

“Shut up, Elijah,” Everett rebounded. “You had your chance to speak, and you lost it. Should be familiar to you. Your pride seems to cost you every time.” He turned back to Connor, who he still didn’t seem to realize was inching steadily closer every time he turned away.

Either that, or he knew and didn’t care.

“He knew what was going to happen,” Everett said. “Knew about everything. Deviancy was an experiment of his. Something he wanted to see play out, because he thought himself a god. Thought he was above it all, could control it all. He knew before the first cases came about in the public sector. Way before. And he tweaked them, shifted them, then erased them.”

Connor glanced down to Elijah, to gauge his stress levels, but something had shifted in the dynamic.

No longer was he angry. His head was hanging, and he was not looking at Connor. Every reading of his demeanor hinted at passivity, at acceptance.

At guilt.

“Salma was one of the first ones to get caught unfairly, after the news of the first deviants broke.” Everett shook his head. “She was coming back from getting groceries, and two men followed her. Chased her down into an alleyway. I wasn’t around. I… I should’ve been around.”

Strange. Connor felt empathy bloom within him, a kindred feeling with the regret that Everett exhibited now.

He felt the same way about Chloe.

He should have taken her away from the villa before she’d deviated, should have pulled her to the patrol car when Kamski turned his back.

Before that night even happened.

“She wasn't a deviant before that night, and afterwards she was never the same,” Everett whispered, and for a split-second Connor thought he was referring to Chloe. It took him a blink to remember that this was about Salma, instead. “When I told Elijah, my supposed _friend_ about it, he offered to wipe her clean. Reset her. Said it had worked wonders for his Chloe, after an _incident_ , and had staved off further deviancy. Said that if I let Salma make her own decisions, she might decide not to be with me. Asked me how that would make me look.” Everett laughed. “As if that was why I wanted to erase her pain. As if that was why I even considered wiping her memory.”

“You were the one who asked _me_ about it, you fucking liar,” Elijah whispered. “You asked me to-”

“I asked if you could get rid of her PTSD,” Everett snapped. “Not _her_.”

“You don’t think it becomes one and the same?” Elijah chuckled.

“Shut up.”

Both men turned to face Connor, who was standing still before them, fists clenched at his sides, seemingly shocked at his quiet outburst.

Connor was breathing heavily, tense, something righteous and helpless and angry coursing through his thirium pump and making it feel overheated and too tight, as if it was unhinged and pinching inside. He’d felt this way in the zen garden, when Amanda had locked him into his own mind. He’d felt this surge of fury as an alternate version of himself held a gun to Hank’s head.

But this… this level of it…

“Shut up,” he repeated, making eye contact with Kamski now. “You think you know so much, just because you created us? Because you’re a prodigy, a genius, a human that was so impressive compared to others of his kind.”

“That’s it,” Everett whispered. “That’s exactly it. He thought he was better than everyone else. Needed his reputation to remain untarnished. Needed to remain pristine. It was why he got out when the experiment got out of hand, so he could claim deniability if it came down to it.”

“A human who fancies himself a god,” Connor answered, stepping forward freely now. “But who isn’t strong enough to face his own sins.”

Elijah looked up at him from where he sat in the icy rain puddles, and Connor could register the betrayal in his expression. The cold betrayal, and a trace of fear.

Good.

Let him feel it, for once.

“I knew you would understand,” Everett said with finality, “if I only had the chance to explain.”

“You went after everyone he’d worked with,” Connor asked, turning to him with a deliberately calm expression. “Why? Why not just go after him?”

“You’re smarter than to ask that,” Everett answered. “Think about it.”

Staring down at the man on his knees, his hair falling in front of his face, his trousers ripped and his shirt stained, his eyes dark with the certainty that he would not escape this encounter unscathed, his face wracked with what looked like guilt and denial.

“You wanted to implicate him,” Connor stated. “Through use of his Chloe, you wanted to implicate Elijah Kamski in the embezzlement and blackmail. To bring him low, expose him for what you saw him for.”

“You got it,” Everett agreed, his voice incredulous. "After the shit I had to dirty my hands with, he could stand some mud."

He was no longer keeping Kamski down. He’d stood fully, only pointing the gun at Elijah as an afterthought. Everett’s face registered relief.

“I knew you’d understand, Connor.”

“But you hurt her,” Connor whispered, allowing hesitance to creep into his voice. Just a little, just enough. “You hurt Chloe, you and Salma both did. She-”

“No,” Everett sighed. “It was an unfortunate spill she took. If she hadn’t jumped out the window like she had, we would’ve merely kept her confined until she could see past that pesky compassion code within herself. The one our dear friend here installed so that he could abuse her with no repercussions. It’s the same one he installed in his caretaker models, isn’t that twisted? That he built a mother for himself, that he could-”

Everett noted that Connor averted his gaze, closing his eyes, and he changed his tune.

“Salma and I… we would never have resorted to violence. It was a sad accident. I apologize. I will apologize to her, too.”

Even though what he’d seen from Chloe’s eyes directly contradicted it, Connor brought his eyes tentatively back to Everett. He blinked, analyzing, and kept his expression indefinite between frustration and understanding.

What was distracting was that the man before him seemingly believed himself. No traces of feint or deceit lined Everett’s eyes or his lips. He stood almost as a tired parent, exhausted after having disciplined a rude child.

Is that how he saw her?

“You know what it’s like, don’t you Connor?” Everett asked, a plea beneath his words. “To see people you care about suffering, because of things you can’t control. Wouldn’t you like to be able to control things again?”

Connor’s chest felt constricted, his mind awash with possibilities.

Lunge forward, and tackle Everett? It would leave him vulnerable to Elijah’s intensely unreliable reaction, and to the gun.

Continue speaking? To what end, though? When would Everett stop, and what ultimatum would he offer when he did?

Or lastly-

“Here.”

Just as Connor was computing the possibility, Everett stepped out from behind Elijah and flicked the gun in his hand so that the grip was facing Connor. He offered it freely, no trace of indecency in his posture or face.

Connor expected Elijah to jump up and lunge for it, but it was as if the desire to survive had been carefully plucked out of the man. He knelt on the ground, still, unaware, and breathing unevenly.

“Take it,” Everett said gently. “I know you want to.”

Connor did as he was asked, new avenues of how this could end opening up to him as if they were flowers blooming, widening their petals to him like plants eagerly soaking up sunlight on a windowsill. The gun felt heavy in his hands, memory coursing through his biocomponents and flooding him with anxiety and dread and horror.

“Chloe told me what Eli asked of her when you visited the villa,” Everett whispered, coming to stand by Connor’s shoulder as Elijah once had. “Chloe said he made her kneel in front of you. Barefoot. Wearing a slip of a dress. He made her look you in the eye as you wrestled with your humanity. And if you’d failed?”

Everett mimed pointing the gun at Kamski, whose head was still lowered, and he made a soft gunshot noise with his mouth as he drew back his arm.

Funny.

The gesture reminded Connor of Gavin somehow.

The same strange sense of humor, that desperate, cornered sarcasm that interwove with hinted violence. That belonged to a person who wasn’t to be trusted, Connor had learned.

Still, he found his arm straightening before him. As he watched himself, Connor raised the gun to aim it at Kamski’s head.

The man on his knees before Connor looked up, eyes wide as realization finally seemed to sink in fully. Connor stared down at him, feeling significantly like he was doing wrong.

But if he was, then why did it feel so vindicated?

So righteous?

What would Hank say, if he could see Connor like this?

“Do what you want to do,” Everett said, his hand on Connor’s shoulder as one might touch a friend. “He deserves a bullet. Not just for Chloe. For the things he’s done to those he called his friends.”

“You ungrateful little prick,” Kamski mumbled, but his lips were trembling, and his eyes were flickering back and forth between the ground, the gun, and Connor’s eyes. "After all I did for you?"

Connor thought Kamski was talking to him, until Everett spoke up.

“You helped me, then cost me my job at Cyberlife,” Everett said calmly. "You didn't even leave me with a final paycheck. I had to find a way to feed myself, to afford the lifestyle I'd grown accustomed to. But please, tell me more about  _what you've done for me_ ," he sneered, the words dripping with malice.

His veneer back in place, affixed so perfectly that Connor imagined he could feel calm seep sympathetically into himself as well.

Maybe through the touch of Everett's hand on his shoulder.

Was that why humans touched one another? Transmission of emotions?

Connor inhaled deeply, attempting to steady his pounding thirium pump as he did so.

“How did he cost you your job?” he asked.

“Let him tell you,” Everett said as he jutted his chin towards Kamski.

Elijah gave a mirthless chuckle and held his hands, palms up, in a gesture that said  _what are you gonna do?_ And yet, he still spoke.

“He threatened to go public with my dalliance with Chloe, and that would have violated a protocol that's in Cyberlife employee contracts. Including my own. On top of that, if word got out about what we’d done-”

Connor must’ve flinched at that, must’ve flexed his fingers, because Kamski rephrased immediately.

“What I’d done. If people found out about that, it would ruin Cyberlife stock. Put my pension in jeopardy.”

“Cyberlife makes sex worker models,” Connor said flatly. “You think more highly of your clientele than they deserve.”

Funny. That sounded like something Hank would say.

“He’s not talking about the sex,” Everett said softly. “He’s talking about wiping away deviancy to guide it on, instead of coming forward so that it could truly be nipped in the bud."

"If I had come forward when I had mere suspicions," Kamski said, as if talking to an idiot, "you never would've been invented, Connor! They never would've needed you. You see? You had to exist somehow, you-"

"I'm warning you," Connor snarled, and then for emphasis he made sure the hammer of the gun was pulled back. Kamski whitened. "My existence isn't what's up for debate right now.”

"Tell him what you did to make sure I kept your little secret, Eli," Everett said, his voice a calm baritone.

Kamski looked up at them both, hatred evident in the curve of his lip as it revealed his straight, white teeth in a sneer. When he realized that neither men before him were about to move, or ask another question, he shook his head.

“I showed them how Everett was stealing from research and development, proved that he was a hindrance to the company name. He lost everything.”

“Everything but Salma,” Everett agreed.

“Is it true?” Connor asked, turning to Everett. As he did, he caught a glimpse of blue and red flashing lights reflecting through the mist. He had little time left. He eyed the man who still hadn’t let go of his shoulder. “Did you steal?”

“No,” Everett said plainly. "I've done illegal things sense, to make ends meet, but not stealing. I didn't need any of Eli's precious trade secrets. I had Salma. I thought we could be happy, find a way to make things work. But even that fell through."

When Connor looked back at Elijah, the man only shrugged again. He made no attempt to justify himself.

“You know,” Kamski sighed. “I’m curious. You wouldn’t shoot Chloe, because she was like you. Alive. At least, alive enough to make you feel guilty. But… you’d shoot me?”

“She didn’t do anything wrong,” Connor stated, anticipation forcing his words out louder than he’d meant. He could hear sirens approaching.

Damn.

He hadn’t signaled.

Hank had probably just had enough of waiting.

“Do it, Connor," Everett whispered. "It's more fitting his creation does it, you know. More poetic.”

“You don’t get to decide who deserves to die, and who doesn’t, Connor,” Kamski stated, both hands on his knees before him.

“Oh, and you could?” Connor spat, shrugging out of Everett’s hand to approach and touch the gun to Kamski’s temple. The man shuddered, but did not look away. “You could force her to her knees? Tell her to stay, to take whatever was given to her? Even when she couldn’t consent, not really. That was acceptable, but me punishing you for your actions isn’t?”

Kamski said nothing, but Everett had stepped forward. Connor could feel him breathing rapidly, the sirens loud enough now that Connor felt he had to shout.

“Answer me!”

Kamski flinched. Right as he did, Connor caught his gaze and pointedly widened his eyes. Wiping the anger free from his expression, he mouthed _shhh_. Elijah almost gave away his surprise, but not before Connor hit him over the temple with the butt of the gun. Not enough to even stun the man, but enough to smart and make a hell of a noise.

Behind him Everett laughed, and Connor felt his biocomponents churn as if grinding together in his guts.

He’d left Chloe behind, alone in the hotel room, for this.

He’d chosen to be the one to respond.

To save Kamski, whatever was left of him that was worth saving. If any.

For Chloe’s sake.

But there was a part of him, an undeniable part of him, that wanted to agree with Everett. That wanted to slip, pull the trigger, rid the world of the egomaniac and the enigma. It'd be easy.

A strange, immediate image was brought to his mind's eye. It was a new version of the zen garden, so startlingly clear that for a moment it was as if he was back there. Connor felt panic pump through him, but he wasn't frozen. He had full control over his movements. He looked around, the nature surrounding him unfamiliar and new. Purple wisteria fluttered in a balmy summer breeze, and he could hear a dog barking.

"Connor," a voice called to him.

Chloe's voice.

He could smell orange blossoms, could hear her running up to him with sandals slapping on the dirt path, could feel her hands on his waist as she pulled him into an embrace.

But he'd never experienced those things before.

He knew in this instance that if he pulled the trigger on Kamski, he surely never would.

"Connor," Everett's voice cut through, bringing him back to the present. "Do it for Chloe."

When Kamski turned to look up at him, a spot already swelling on his temple, Connor nodded.

In a flash, Connor whirled and knocked his elbow into Everett’s sternum while Elijah lunged forward and punched at one of his kneecaps. Everett was quick, darting his leg just out of reach of full impact, but Connor’s elbow still did damage. There was a crack somewhere in his ribs, and he shouted in pain, perhaps in betrayal.

He moved quicker than Connor had anticipated, favoring grappling just as he’d said he would, and went to tackle Connor into the ground presumably to wrestle the gun out of his hands. Elijah got a swift kick to the face, knocking him prone, and Connor realized he was down one asset already.

“Freeze! Hands in the air, Priest!”

Oh no.

“Hank, get back!” Connor shouted, struggling to keep hold of the gun. “He’s armed!”

He pointed the barrel at Everett’s chest, breathing heavily as he tried to sweep the man’s legs out from under him or at least get himself into a more defensible position.

It didn’t work.

Connor had been distracted, missing an opportunity to snake his legs through a gap in Everett’s stance, he’d been too busy calling to Hank to warn him to get away. There was more shouting now, he could hear car doors slamming, sirens, and then a piercing shriek.

Connor’s pump ran cold, his limbs momentarily losing all force, as he recognized the voice crying from one of the squad cars.

“Chlo-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish calling her name. Everything went white and pressurized, all at once. Connor could feel his auditory processing unit askew from the hit he’d taken to the head, something ajar within his inner ear, and the static from it was deafening.

Another blow came up beneath his jaw, slamming his teeth together, biting through his lip.

Weakened, he managed at least to keep hold of the gun. It was still between them, and Connor threw his entire weight backwards to roll Everett down to the wet cement below them. He could feel the wind knocked out of his lungs, could hear it knocked from Everett, and there was a second of reprieve. He aimed, cocked the gun, and-

Click.

No bullet.

He tried again, but with the same result. It wasn’t loaded. Something Connor would have noticed right away had he not let his emotions creep steadily in the way of his perceptions.

Everett laughed, and then shot his hand out to the center of Connor’s chest. One blow, a second, a knee; as Connor struggled to get away, he heard her voice again.

“Don’t hurt him!”

For one sick moment, he thought Chloe was talking about Kamski, a surge of strange envy washing cold and foreign over his entire body. But then he felt the hand at his shirtfront loosen and release him. Everett let him fall to the ground, and Connor curled on his side as he coughed out thirium. In doing so, he caught a glimpse of who the police had brought along.

It wasn’t Chloe.

"Everett, stop it! Just surrender, please!"

Everett stood, walking on shaky feet over to where the police cars lined the parking lot, akimbo in their haste. Waiting there with Hank, her eyes wide with panic, was a perfect model of Chloe, with shorter hair and an expression of gut-wrenching fear on her face. Everett held his hands out to her, or at least it looked like he did. It was hard to tell from where Connor lay retching into a puddle in the pavement.

"Put your hands above your head, and get to your knees," Hank said, his tone authoritative and calm. "Now!"

“Salma-”

Whatever else Everett had to say was interrupted as he seized from the jolt of electricity from the tasers. Officers approached, restraining the man as his legs kicked out involuntarily. Paramedics ran for Kamski as Salma dropped to her knees beside her companion, and suddenly Connor felt Hank’s hands on the back of his neck. The old man had placed himself between Connor and the emotional display, cutting off everything from view as he tried to help Connor to a kneeling position.

“Hey,” Hank said, over and over again. "It's okay, it's okay, hey. It's okay."

He wanted to ask why Hank was repeating himself, why he was attending to Connor instead of making sure Everett stayed cuffed. But then Connor realized after a beat that he was sobbing, crying down into the concrete, his body aching with every inhale and unable to stop. He folded onto himself, allowing the waves of chagrin and regret to roll over him and leave him empty in their wake.

Once he calmed, someone brought him a foil blanket and began to see to his vitals.

Hank stayed at his side, a parental insistence in his unwavering support, his silence unreadable but a comfort nonetheless.

"You ready to go?" Hank asked him after the ambulance seeing to Kamski was off towards the hospital. Connor looked up at the man before him, unable to process the influx of what he assumed to be emotions gathering like knots inside of his mind. He'd held it together. Barely, but he'd held it together.

"How's Chloe?"

"Miller and Wilson are with her. I assume she'll go to the precinct again, although I doubt she's needed. You, however, will have some paperwork on your desk tomorrow, I am sure of it."

Connor gave a stifled laugh, tears already welling up in his eyes once more, even though he couldn't pinpoint why.

"Hey," Hank squeezed his shoulder. "That can't have been easy. But you did good, son."

Connor swallowed, clenched his jaw, and nodded.

Hank patted him on the back, resolute as he helped Connor to his feet.

"Now. Let's get you home, and get me a triple decker burger while we're out. Don't you say a thing, I think I've earned it." Hank ignored Connor's huff of a laugh and opened the car door for him. "I'm serious. What do androids ea- d- aw hell, consume? Do you  _consume_  anything to reward yourself? What do you do on a cheat day?"

"I don't know."

"Well," Hank got in the driver's side and slammed the door behind him. "At the very least, let me stop for a coffee. We can figure everything else out from there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been out of sorts lately, with life etc, but I was always continuing on this story even during the low times. It's been fun for me, and I hope it has for you. We'll be finishing things up on a decidedly happier note with our epilogue in the next and final chapter. This was a hard one, and we're not ending with brokenness! Not on my watch!
> 
> Also, do you know what riddle Chloe posed to Connor?  
> ʱªʱªʱª (ᕑᗢूᓫ∗)

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have a playlist that captures the absolute ["am I fit to love another living being"](https://open.spotify.com/user/samzillastomps/playlist/6fIciy4XIajXaKom7wKdvT?si=ssMAIOGRSQOuPdIhTtxbXg) vibe this story's got going on. If you make anything about these two, I want to see it! [Find me on Tumblr ](https://samzillastomps.tumblr.com/)and hit me up (っ´ω`)っ☂⊂(´ω`⊂ )


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